


The Critiquer

by dysonrules



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: HP: EWE, Humor, M/M, Photography, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysonrules/pseuds/dysonrules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry submits his cock photo to a renowned Cock Critiquer and gets a terrible review, he decides to take a photography class to hopefully improve his skills.</p><p><b>Career Choices:</b> Harry: Shiftless layabout; Draco: Cock Critiquer</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phoenixacid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixacid/gifts).



> For [Prompt # 4](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/74208.html?thread=3488992#t3488992).
> 
> This was supposed to be utter crack, but it developed something of a plot and grew a few thousand words, so I hope it measures up. *snickers* Measures up. Yeah, I went there. XD
> 
> The accompanying Wizarding graphics and page breaks were made by [phoenixacid](http://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixacid/profile). Warning: Really NWS gifs! ;)

Draco tossed his cape towards the coat rack, gave the wooden pegs a frown when they were slow to lean out and catch it--the hem nearly scraped the floor, for Salazar's sake--and dropped into his chair before swivelling it to pop his feet up onto the desktop.

"Please tell me there is something worthwhile in today's post, Mindy." His lament was heartfelt and weary, magnified by his hand hovering over the desk in a "give me" motion, with just enough trepidation in his curled fingers to denote that he fully expected the worst.

His assistant crept forwards, hand outstretched so far that it seemed she would prefer to detach her arm completely and send it at him with a spell rather than take one step closer. He sighed. Nothing of interest, then. "Ummmm," she said with her usual inability to articulate. He took the stack of photographs anyway.

"Shite, shite, worse than shite, what the hell is this, bring me a cup of tea before I murder someone, shite, shite, and… shite." Draco tossed each photo onto his desk in turn and looked up before the last one fell. As expected, Mindy had wisely heeded his words and fled as though dementors were after her, with any luck to fetch him some tea. He rubbed his temples. Honestly, what had started as a silly quest for vengeance and salvaging his wounded ego had turned into a thankless chore.

Pansy breezed into the room, holding a steaming mug. Draco perked up hopefully but she clutched the mug tighter to her ample bosom and gave him a wary look. Selfish bint.

"Draco, darling! How goes the cock critique business? Anything good today?" She perched her bum on the edge of his desk and leaned over to flip through the photos with one brightly varnished nail, wisely keeping her tea mug far out of Draco's grasp.

He crossed his arms petulantly and silently willed Mindy to hurry up with his tea. If she were any slower she would be Neville Longbottom on a broom. The mental image cheered him slightly, as did Pansy's facial expression of horror.

"Shite, shite, double-shite--is this even a cock, Merlin help us, I believe he's trying to be _artsy_ \--shite, shite, and shite. Bloody hell, have we tapped the well of decent cocks? Do none remain?"

Draco nodded sadly. Her words mirrored his sentiments, although he was willing to be slightly more forgiving. "The problem," he said as he reached for the stack of discarded photos, "is not that there are no decent cocks, because clearly there are." He lifted a garish photo of a large specimen that appeared to be practically perfect, large, rigid, blemish-free, and obviously ready to be inserted into anything willing.

Mindy chose that moment to trot back into his office and plop a large teacup down on his desk. Her face was flaming, likely having caught Draco's words. "Your tea, sir." She bounded out again and Draco sighed. He despaired of Mindy ever shedding the veneer of naïve virginity, despite the fact that she'd been married some three years now. Sometimes he wondered if she'd even made it through their wedding night without hexing her poor beloved if he'd attempted to lie with her. Of course, the very thought of Mindy on her wedding night practically gave him hives, so he forbore ever asking. It was none of his concern if she chose to die a wedded virgin.

"The _problem_ ," he continued, forcing his mind back on track, "is that there is so little skill. There is no finesse, no sense of aesthetics, no spark of romance! These people are all talentless imbeciles! They expect to drop their drawers and set to fucking. Like donkeys! Or rutting bulls."

Pansy lifted a photo and cocked her head to look at it from a different angle. "This one has decent lighting."

Draco snatched it. "The lighting is fine, but he's taken a blatant photo of his turgid cock without an ounce of preparation. The bed isn't visible, but the peeling wallpaper is, and the tips of his toes, which haven't seen a pedicure in, oh, ever. And the only movement is the annoying wiggle of his toes and feeble jerking of his cock. Hopeless! It's obvious he got lucky with the lighting. Must have been early morning." Draco tossed the photo aside.

"This one has potential." Pansy held up a modest photo.

Draco snatched it. "I admit the cock has potential. It looks brilliant, although you can see absolutely _none_ of it beneath those hideous Muggle jeans." Draco shook his head sadly. The outline of what might have been a decent cock was completely hidden beneath an open zipper, bunched denim fabric, and horrid-looking white undergarments that were probably relics of the day when the poor lad's mum purchased his pants for him. Beyond the cock outline, there was nothing vaguely interesting about the photo. He tossed it aside. "Rubbish."

Pansy sipped at her tea, looking thoughtful. "You know, you could teach them."

Draco gave her a look.

"I'm serious! I don't mean _cock photo_ school, of course, although wouldn't that be a hilarious curriculum?"

"A veritable riot," Draco said dryly.

"I mean a genuine photography class. You said yourself that you were getting bored with this. Why not do something to improve the quality of the submissions?"

"I doubt that the people willing to sign up for a photography class will then rush home and take pictures of their cocks."

"You never know. Besides, I'm sure you'll have just as much fun teaching some stuffy matron about lighting and perspective, all whilst imagining a luscious cock spread out waiting to be photographed."

Draco arched a brow at her. As much as he hated to admit it, she might have had a point.

Harry tipped back another shot of punch, feeling far tipsier than he should have allowed. The problem, he decided, was that Seamus made punch that was much too tasty. It was difficult to stop drinking, even when the room began to spin.

"And look at this one!" Dean Thomas was laughing so hard that tears were pouring down his face and leaving dark droplet stains on his purple shirt. "It's a shapeless blob that might be a cock if you have a wild imagination!"

"Let's see what he says about that one!" Seamus grabbed the magazine from Dean, who shook his head and laughed again, lifting one hand to dab at his eyes. 'I have seen better cocks portrayed by accident on a Muggle Rorschach test.' Merlin, that's hilarious!"

"Wait, what's that?" Dean asked.

"It's a test where they show you pictures of ink blobs and you're supposed to say what you think they look like. It's some sort of psychological evaluation. I think." Harry was impressed he'd been able to say the word _psychological_. He probably couldn't manage it again without fucking it up. His brain felt fuzzy.

"Totally hysterical. Here, Harry, what do you think? As a psycho-loggy-cal test?" Seamus tossed the magazine to him.

Harry picked it up and scrutinised the photo. He turned it sidewise and had to agree with the assessment. "Definitely a shapeless blob. The next one is nice, though." He perused the next photo, which was a graphically upright cock clasped in a rough-looking hand. The tip glistened with a bead of ejaculate. The hand curled and moved up to the tip in a slow motion. Harry felt his jeans tighten at the sight.

"He didn't like that one, either," Dean said. "Read the review."

 

**_This one takes trying too hard to new levels. The lighting is garish and highlights the hairs on the testes most unpleasantly, and whilst the inclusion of a hand is generally a nice touch, I would suggest a manicure first because those dreadful nails detract from the aesthetics most unpleasantly._ **

"Wow," Harry said. "He's harsh."

"Or she. No one knows who writes those. The Cock Critiquer is a mystery."

"Hey!" Seamus cried suddenly. "We should send some! You know, get ours critiqued!"

Dean snorted. "No thanks. Who wants to get ripped like that? Cee-Cee never gives anyone a good review."

"That's not true. He really liked that one last month with the sky backdrop. Remember? Besides, you're artistic! You can probably get a great rating, and I bet your cock is enormous."

"Because all black men have huge cocks, is that it?" Dean gave him a glare.

"Well… yeah. Everyone knows that."

Harry and Seamus both looked at him. Harry was curious to see if Dean was willing to refute the stereotype. Dean shifted and looked away. "All right, yeah, it's huge. So what?"

Seamus crowed and threw his hands up, sloshing the last droplets of his drink onto the table. "I knew it! So let's do it! I have a camera here somewhere." He plunked his empty glass down and got to his feet, swaying erratically as he crossed the room.

"What--right _now?_ " Harry asked.

"You know we won't do it when we sober up, mate. It has to be now."

Harry doubted his logic was quite sound, but he couldn't think of a counter-argument through the alcohol fumes clouding his mind. Seamus trotted back a few minutes later with an old camera. He waved it in the air happily.

"Dean, you're the artistic one. You should tell us what to do."

"I say you keep your tiny white cocks in your pants where they belong and stop tormenting the world with them."

Seamus pouted at him. "Dean."

Dean sighed. "All right, I'm just messing with you. Merlin, this is ridiculous. This is the gayest thing I've ever done."

Seamus tossed him the camera. "Seriously? I've done much gayer things. How about you, Harry?"

"Pretty sure I _am_ gay, Seamus." After the words slipped out, Harry wondered how to stuff them back in, because both Seamus and Dean stared at him as though he'd suddenly morphed into a Crumple-horned Snorkack. "Um…"

After a few more slow blinks, Seamus seemed to shake himself. "Okay. Good. Thanks for sharing, Harry. So, Dean, how should we do this?"

"How should we do what?"

Seamus threw a sofa pillow at him. "Have a gay sex party. Godric, idiot, the _camera_! What have we been talking about?"

"Oh. Well, I'm not taking pictures of your junk. And you're not taking pictures of mine either--no offense, Harry."

Harry relaxed back into the sofa. Both of his friends seemed to be taking the gay thing in stride. "I think Seamus wants artistic instruction."

"Yeah." Seamus sat on the sofa and spread his legs, then used both hands to make a chopping motion on top of his thighs. "That's it. Artistic instruction. I want to know the best way to _frame_ this perfection."

"I need another drink," said Dean with a groan.

In the end, and after a couple more drinks, they had decided to go back through the magazines and locate the photos that had garnered the O for Outstanding ratings, and Dean had given them some drunken pointers on lighting and artistic placement of objects, all of which Harry had forgotten by morning when he'd awakened on Seamus' sofa with the mother of all headaches.

As he sat up with a whimper of pain, he remembered snatches of conversation, such as Dean asking, "How gay, Seamus?" And Seamus replying, "Just kissing. And stuff." Followed by one awkward moment of them both looking at Harry, who had held up both hands with a laugh. "No. I am not kissing _and stuff_ with Seamus. Not that you're not a fit bloke, Seamus."

Seamus had shrugged. "Fair enough. Who do you fancy, then?"

"No one. Well, that clerk at Flourish and Blott's."

"The blond one? He's got a girlfriend, mate."

"I know. All the hot ones are straight."

Seamus had given him a commiserating pat on the shoulder and then they had all taken turns in the bathroom taking photos of their dicks and sending them off to the Cock Critiquer before they could sober up enough to change their minds.

"Merlin, tell me we did not do what we did last night."

Dean rolled over on the opposing sofa and threw an arm across his eyes. "We did not take photos of our cocks and send them to a random stranger for analysis."

"Except that we absolutely did," Seamus murmured from somewhere in the room. Harry peered over the edge of the sofa arm to find Seamus wrapped in a blanket with his head propped up on a pair of boots and one lumpy sofa pillow.

"Seamus, why are you on the floor? This is your house."

"Couldn't find the bedroom."

Harry nodded, understanding. It had been that sort of night. "I'm going home. And I'm never drinking with you two again."

"Until Dean's birthday in three weeks," Seamus reminded him.

"Until Dean's birthday in three weeks." Harry nodded and made his way to the Floo.

"Bye, Harry," Dean mumbled.

Harry snorted and Flooed home. All in all, it hadn't been that bad.

It was bad.

Harry looked from the photo of his cock--or the outline of his cock; he'd been embarrassed enough to have taken the photo with his clothes on--to the words beneath.

**_While you appear to have a decent cock hiding beneath those atrocious Muggle jeans and uninteresting white briefs, this photo does nothing to sell it. The lighting is terrible, the angle is awkward, it goes out of focus rather than giving us any movement, and the entire thing is boring. I give your cock photo a T for Troll and a TA for Try Again._ **

Harry frowned at the picture. Surely it wasn't that terrible? He wondered what Seamus and Dean's had got, but wasn't curious enough to ask them. Instead, he dug through his house until he located an old camera, went to the bedroom and wanked for a bit, and then took another picture.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he sent it off.

Draco sipped at his tea and waited whilst Pansy flicked through the daily photos.

"I've found a room for you," she said and then wrinkled her nose. "Salazar, what the hell is this? It looks like an elephant's trunk…oh. It's supposed to look like that. The balls are its ears. Isn't that cute? Actually, no. That's incredibly disturbing."

"Surprisingly better than the endless parade of snakes, complete with stuck-on google-eyes. As if anyone would ever want a cock with _eyes_ penetrating their orifices. A room for what?"

"For your photography class. There is a room available above Charlemagne Shoes. There are loads of windows that let in natural light, plus some interesting old brickwork around the fireplace. Which is connected to the Floo Network, as a bonus. I checked."

Draco had completely forgotten her earlier suggestion. "Pansy, I am not a photographer."

"So, practice!" She flipped the elephant-cock photo at him. "If nothing else, it will give you something to do all day besides look at cocks and wallow in self-pity."

"I am not wallowing in self-pity," he growled. "Stanton was ages ago. I'm over it."

"Sure you are. Now, let's go shopping for a nice camera. I've also bought you some books. Mindy! Draco is going out for the afternoon!"

"Yes, Miss Parkinson! Have a nice time, sir!"

"She'll probably skive off all afternoon whilst I'm gone," Draco muttered, not pleased at the thought of giving in to Pansy's bullying, but intrigued nonetheless.

"Her? She'll most like re-alphabetise your bookshelf and then sort the cock photos by length and breadth."

Draco snorted. "She would have to look at them first, and she can barely do that without getting a case of the vapours. Honestly, if she's ever seen a cock in the daylight, I'll eat my…"

Pansy arched a brow at him and Draco thought carefully. Uttering anything that sounded even vaguely like a dare around the woman could be deadly.

"…lunch," he finished.

"Spoilsport. Let's go."

Three days later, Harry opened the magazine to find the photo he'd taken, along with a critique.

**_This photo could win an award for Lack of Imagination. Unfortunately, it will not win any awards here, because it is dull as plain toast. The high shot indicates that the camera was held in one hand, which makes it difficult to get a decent photograph since you cannot possibly focus. As you see in this particular example, one cannot tell if a cock is concealed beneath that sheet or merely a decent-sized cucumber. I give your cock photo a T for Troll._ **

Harry balled up the magazine and threw it against the wall with a cry of rage. _T for Troll? Again? Cucumber?_

He stomped over and retrieved the magazine before smoothing it out and examining his photo again.

"Are you fucking blind?" he yelled. "That is no cucumber!" He crumpled the magazine again and then reached for his wand and cast _Incendio_ until it was no more than ash and his table was in danger of achieving permanent scorch marks.

"T for Troll," he muttered. "I'll show that… _cock critiquer_."

Later, over lunch with Ron and Hermione, Ron asked what was bothering him.

"What? Nothing. I'm fine."

"Really? Then you won't mind if I rescue those chips from your endless dunking. You've turned three of them to vinegary mush already." Ron reached for Harry's chips.

"You do seem distracted, Harry. Is everything all right at work?"

Harry straightened. "Everything is fine. I'm great. Really." He forced a smile.

"You look tired. Perhaps you should stop spending so much time with Seamus and Dean." Hermione gave him a glimpse of her disapproving look and Harry bit back a genuine smile.

"There is nothing wrong with Seamus and Dean."

Ron nodded his agreement at Harry's words, not that Ron's approval had ever been a positive in Hermione's book.

"All they do is get drunk and talk about Quidditch."

"We talk about plenty more than Quidditch!" Harry protested.

"Such as?"

Harry flushed and looked away, absolutely not planning to divulge their latest conversation. "We talk about current events."

Her stare turned sceptical. "Current events."

"In fact, we were discussing _photography._ Dean suggested I might not be very artistic." Harry knew he sounded slightly smug, but it wasn't often he could pull one over on Hermione, and this time he wasn't even lying.

Ron snorted. "Not artistic. So?"

"Art is very important, Ron."

Harry laughed. Sometimes he thought Hermione only contradicted Ron out of habit. The rolling of Ron's eyes showed that he agreed with Harry's unvoiced sentiment.

"It is!" Hermione protested. "Think of some of the things you love best. Like Hogwarts. How do you think it would have looked without a sense of craftsmanship and artistry?"

"Like the Ministry?" Ron offered.

"Exactly!"

Ron still looked dubious, but once again Hermione had made her point. "So, what are you going to do, mate? Take an art class?"

"No, of course not. I can't draw or paint to save my life. I don't think art classes would fix that particular lack of talent."

"But what about a photography class? Isn't that what you were discussing with Dean?" Hermione asked. She snapped her fingers. "I just saw an advertisement! Where was that?" She got up and walked over to a sideboard that was stacked with magazines and newspapers. She began muttering to herself as she flipped through the pile.

"Good to know she's still mental, yeah?" Ron murmured to Harry.

"I heard that. Here it is! It was a flyer tucked into _Witch Weekly_."

"You read _Witch Weekly_?"

"She reads everything, Harry, don't you know that by now?"

"Shush, both of you. Here." She thrust a flyer at Harry. He took the glossy page and skimmed it.

 

"Photography class," Harry mused.

"I think it would be brilliant. Everyone needs a hobby."

"I don't have a hobby," Ron said.

"I think eating is your hobby, mate," Harry replied.

Ron looked at the biscuit he'd bitten into and then shrugged. "I guess you're right. Anyway, I think photography would be useful."

"Really? Why?"

"You know how you hate going to parties and events? You could take your camera and stave off the autograph seekers by taking _their_ photos. Most people hate that."

"Ron, sometimes you are very smart," Hermione said with a proud smile.

Ron preened and Harry folded the flyer and tucked it into a pocket. It wasn't a bad idea.

Draco looked around the space and shook his head with a smile. He had to give Pansy credit--once she got an idea in her head she tended to go all the way with it, particularly whenever it involved spending Draco's money. The loft looked fabulous. She had set up a variety of stations, complete with multi-coloured floating light sources. There were directional spotlights, assorted backdrops, and a moveable stack of furniture, from antique baroque sofas and chairs to modern bookshelves and tables. There was even a wrought-iron bed occupying one corner.

"What were you planning to do with the bed?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer. He wasn't sure his reputation could survive him delving into the pornography industry. His cock critiquing business was relatively above-board, and altogether anonymous, sent to paying magazines via public owl on a regular basis.

Pansy crawled onto the bed and reclined in a sultry pose, hiking her skirt up her bare thighs to an indecent level. "Boudoir photos, Draco. They are all the rage right now. Frumpy housewives can get all glammed up and take sexy photos to give to their husbands in order to pretend the spark hasn't died." She sat up. "Or they can send them to their boyfriends on the side. Or both." She winked.

"The thought of taking photos of frumpy housewives is spectacularly unappealing."

"Which is why you'll be teaching other people to do it, remember?"

Draco looked at the dark curtains that could be closed to conceal the bed from the rest of the room. There were no windows in the corner, making it a sort of oasis of privacy. "I think we will save that for an advanced course." _Or a never ever course_ , he added to himself.

Pansy hopped off the bed. "And you can always crash here, if a class runs late, or if you meet an enticing student and want him to stay after for some special instruction." She leered at him and made quote marks in the air.

He shook his head, knowing full well that he wouldn't be indulging in any of that nonsense with any of his students. He had sworn off romance completely and had no desire to indulge in even casual sex. He had two perfectly capable hands with which to bring himself off when the occasion warranted. Sex simply led to emotional entanglement and heartbreak, and similar foolishness. He wanted no part of it.

"Brilliant. I believe I shall be ready to begin teaching in a couple of weeks." He rubbed his hands and looked around the place.

"Wednesday," Pansy said.

"Wednesday, what?"

"Your first class is Wednesday. The flyers went out in yesterday's mail. My goodness, look at the time! I've got to find something suitable to wear! Ta, darling!" Pansy trotted to the fireplace and before Draco could think of a suitable hex to use upon her, she had tossed the Floo powder and was gone.

"I can't do it on Wednesday, you bloody bint!" he yelled at the empty flames.

Harry climbed the stairs and found the door already open. Soft music emanated from the room beyond, and when he stepped through he found only three other people occupying the space. He breathed a sigh of relief. He had half-expected it to be filled with customers mingling and taking photographs. The two people standing near the small reception desk seemed even more awkward than Harry.

The woman behind the desk waved him forwards. The other two backed away, and did not seem to recognise him in the dim lighting. They both gravitated towards a small bar between two curtain-less windows. A small sign read HELP YOURSELF.

Harry cleared his throat. "Hello. I'm here to look into your available classes."

The woman smiled. She seemed pleasant enough, and not at all scary or threatening. "Absolutely, dear. Our beginner's class will start on Saturday and run for four weeks, meeting on Saturday afternoons, and Monday and Wednesday evenings. Intermediate classes are on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Here is a list of the fees." She slid over a pamphlet that Harry scanned. The prices seemed reasonable, although he had no scale on which to judge them. It wasn't as though he couldn't afford it, regardless. "Which do you prefer?"

"Um. The beginner." He handed back the pamphlet.

"Your name?"

He leaned as close as possible and glanced towards the others, who were lifting bottles and exclaiming over the labels. "Harry Potter."

The woman gasped and her eyes went to his scar. He knew it was completely covered by his black hair, and yet he felt the urge to make sure.

"Well! Oh my! This is... This is quite an honour, Mr Potter, sir!"

Harry grimaced. "Please don't. Just call me Harry and treat me like a regular student." His heart sank, as her demeanour had completely changed from competent professional to addlepated fan. "I just want to learn how to use my camera." He gave her a hopeful smile and it seemed to do the trick.

"Er, yes. Your camera." She looked at the others and then got to her feet. "Please gather round! I would like to take a look at your cameras. Did everyone bring one?"

Harry sighed with relief and then held his up high. The others did the same and the instructor--Mindy, her name was--looked them all over and pronounced each one serviceable. "These will all do just fine, even the more archaic models, although they won't have some of the features of the newer ones. The boss will go into more detail with you lot on Saturday, and teach you about the varying settings."

"The boss?" Harry asked.

"Yes, he had a prior engagement tonight and sent me to get everyone sorted and the paperwork in order, but he will be teaching the class. Please be here at noon on Saturday, and bring some sort of notepad and quill. Do not forget your cameras, of course. I am passing out the course synopsis; feel free to ask questions and mingle freely. Help yourselves to the beverages and refreshments. This is our grand opening, after all." Mindy held out a flyer and Harry took one.

"Um, and the instructor's name is?" Harry asked.

"Oh, that would be--" The sound of shattering glass drew their attention and a young man gave them both a sheepish look from where he was stood near the liquor bar.

"Terribly sorry. I'm a bit of a butterfingers." He shifted from foot to foot, and something about him reminded him of Neville. Hogwarts Neville, not current competent Herbologist Neville. "I'm also pants at Repairing Spells."

Mindy hurried over and helped him to repair the glass and clean up the spilt alcohol before pouring him a new beverage. By then, one of the others had gravitated to Harry. She was a tall woman with wavy blond hair that tumbled to her waist. One lock was vibrantly orange and it matched the t-shirt she wore. It said CRUSH and Harry wondered idly if she was a Cannons fan.

"Hi. I'm Sarah. Do you know anything about photography?"

Harry juggled his camera and the synopsis in order to stick out a hand for her to take. "I'm Harry. And I barely know how to press the button to take a picture. You're American?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm from Maryland. Got a job with the Department of International Magical Cooperation at your Ministry of Magic. I don't really know anyone yet, so I thought I'd take a class." She held up her camera and waggled it. It was black and sleek and looked far more modern than Harry's.

"I used to work at the Ministry, too," he admitted. "Law enforcement."

"Ohhh, a cop? That's cool. Used to?"

"Got bored with it."

"It happens. What's fun to do in this town?"

Harry found himself wrapped up in talking to Sarah. It was curiously refreshing to speak to someone who had no idea about his past, and her accent was interesting. By the time Mindy ushered them all out for the night, Harry was feeling buzzed on too much Firewhiskey and riding the pleasant high of making a new friend. All in all, he looked forward to Saturday.

Draco sipped at his tea and rubbed his temples. He had stayed out far too late the previous night, as generally happened on Wednesdays. Thanks to Pansy's meddling, he'd been forced to inform his mother that he needed to move their weekly dinners to Friday instead of Wednesday, and she had spent the next three hours rearranging her calendar to accommodate him. As he yawned, he realised that he should have moved them to Fridays months ago, because now he would be able to have a lie-in on Saturday mornings before his weekend class. Pansy might have been something of a genius, after all.

"How is everything this morning, Mr Malfoy?" Mindy placed the usual stack of mail on his desk.

"Fine. How did the Grand Opening go? Did Pansy show up?"

Mindy's mouth drew together in a disapproving line. "She did not. The event, however, was perfectly fine. You have six in your beginner class and three in the intermediate. There were also four RSVPs stating that they could not attend last night, but they will attempt to make it to Saturday's class. I wrote their contact information there, colour-coded and alphabetised in order by chosen class."

As usual, Mindy had been hyper-efficient. He supposed he would need to give her a rise in pay soon. "Thank you, Mindy." He scanned the list. "Wait a bloody minute. _Harry Potter_? _The_ Harry Potter?"

Mindy nodded. "I recognised him right off. Such a handsome man." She sighed dreamily.

He glared at her and then looked back at the name. Potter. What the fuck did he want? Was he spying on Draco again? Not that he'd done that since their school days, but old habits died hard. Perhaps Potter was feeling nostalgic.

"He's in the beginner class," Mindy added. "He spent most of the night chatting with an American girl. I didn't want to interrupt to ask for his autograph. He told me to call him Harry. Such a charming man."

"Thank you, Mindy, that will be all." He resisted clenching the papers in a fit of pique. Perfect Potter. Scion of the Wizarding World. Hero to the Masses. Giant Arsehole. He barely noticed when Mindy pattered out.

After brooding for some time, Draco realised it would be perfectly possible to shame Potter out of class on the very first day. He perked up at the thought and then turned his attention to the new crop of cock photos.

 _Crap, crap, crap, one enormous, dripping cock with enough visual interest to earn an A for Acceptable, crap, crap, and..._ Draco turned the photo around several times, trying to catch a glimpse of a cock amidst the sea of swirling shadows before tossing it aside with a moue of disgust. One thing was certain; Draco's talents in the area of photography were sorely needed.

As luck would have it, Potter was the first to arrive. He stepped into the room and stopped short, green eyes going wide. It wasn't until then that Draco realised that Potter had no idea Draco would be teaching the class.

"Malfoy?"

The question gave him pause. He had intended to go on the immediate attack, but Potter's obvious confusion left Draco a bit baffled. If the prat wasn't here to spy on him, then why was he here?

"Potter. Am I to assume you are here for our beginner class, or is this an official visit?"

"Official...?" Potter blinked at him and then shook his head. "Oh. No! I'm not an Auror anymore. I'm here for the class. You're actually teaching a photography class? I didn't know you could... I mean, I didn't know."

"What you don't know about me could fill Battelle's World Wizarding Museum in Manchester six times over," Draco said dryly.

Potter frowned. "There is a World Wizarding Museum?"

Draco bared his teeth. Honestly, could someone please spare him from the uneducated of the world? At least for one bloody day? Instead he calmly stared at Potter and pictured him morphing into a house-elf, complete with floppy ears, bulbous nose, and subservient expression. When the ridiculous visual amused him enough to provide a calm response, he said, "Yes, Potter. There is."

Uncooperatively, Potter morphed back into himself and Draco was unpleasantly surprised to discover that Potter was, actually, just as handsome as Mindy had gushed about. His hair was still a bloody mess, but his body had grown from an underfed, overclothed stick figure into something more reminiscent of one of the men found in Draco's favoured porn magazines. Draco frowned when he realised that even that comparison was an understatement. Potter's physique was saliva-inducing. His shoulders were broad and his abdominal muscles were visible beneath his bloody t-shirt. It was almost indecent, for Salazar's sake.

"Malfoy?"

Potter's question penetrated and Draco realised he might have been staring at Potter for far longer than was socially acceptable. He snapped his papers loudly. "Indeed," he said, apropos of nothing. "I assume you brought a camera?"

"Of course." Potter held up a large relic.

Draco took it from him and looked it over. It was ancient, but would work for a beginner. "Do you know how to use this?"

"I know that pressing this button makes pictures. Other than that, no. Which would be why I am here."

The door opened and two people entered the room, saving Draco from mentally forcing Potter back into house-elf shape. Draco turned his back on Potter and sallied forth to meet his other paying clients.

Astoundingly, there was no outcry about Draco's former Death Eater status. The American probably hadn't even heard of Voldemort; the bored housewife frowned as though trying to place his name; Henrietta VanZanden--of the Watford VanZandens--wanted to know how to take perfect photos immediately; the young brown-haired man had eyes only for the American; and Orson Rhonestaadt, records clerk with the Ministry's Department of Overbearing Bureaucracy, only gave him a few steely-eyed stares. Potter seemed more focussed on trying to break his camera than anything.

All in all, it was a motley class, but not overly terrible. Draco launched into a magical slide show to demonstrate all of the working parts of a camera. He took great pleasure in staring at Harry while announcing, "So you see, pressing the button does not 'make a picture', it simply allows the images to imprint upon the film, whereby the magic therein causes it to extend for a period of exactly six seconds. When the film is developed, the photograph will emerge from the blank film, display the six-second image, and then loop."

"Is it possible to get longer clips?" Gladys, the bored housewife, asked.

"Yes, but both the film and the cameras are more expensive. For photos with longer loops, it might be preferable to invest in a video camera, although the images taken will then not be portable. Now, in this class we will go over the basics of picture-taking, as well as touch on lighting, composition, and if time permits, filters. Please get out your writing materials, as you will want to take some notes." Draco smiled as everyone complied. Pansy was a genius. This teaching thing was immensely gratifying.

Harry took careful notes once Malfoy began to sound like he knew what he was talking about.

_1) Use a tripod or a spell to steady the camera for still photos._

_2) Keep your camera with you at all times and take as many photos as you can. "One never knows when that perfect opportunity will lie around a corner."_

_3) Make lists of things you want to photograph, especially if you see something during a busy time and want to go back to it later._

_4) Do not bypass ordinary objects! "Simple things can become dramatic with the right lighting and angle of approach."_

_5) Experiment. "Use the camera's settings to become more familiar with them."_

Malfoy leaned against the edge of the desk and Harry spared a moment to admire his legs, long and lean, encased in crisp-looking white trousers with a sharp edge running down the front centre. His legs were crossed at the ankles and his dark brown shoes had probably been polished by house-elves to a mirror finish. He wore a suit-jacket that matched his trousers, but the medium blue shirt beneath looked casual and somehow welcoming. He had no tie, and Harry wondered at his near-Mugglewear choice. Malfoy had always seemed more comfortable in robes.

"Now for some rules of composition, although like most rules these may be considered guidelines rather than hard-and-fast instructions."

"So, you would consider most rules to be loose and easily-broken, Malfoy?" The snide comment issued from the man--Orson? Harry vaguely remembered seeing him around the Ministry a time or two, and sometimes hovering near the Auror Department, back before he'd quit the Aurors to become a shiftless layabout.

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy did not rise to the bait. He simply smiled, although the smile did not touch his grey eyes. "When it comes to photography, Mr Rhonestaadt, it is far better to be flexible than rigid. Now, here is your list of rules, and you may note that it is perfectly acceptable to follow them _to the letter_. As I am certain you will, Mr Rhonestaadt. And probably you, Potter."

Harry narrowed his eyes at being lumped in with Rhonestaadt. The man did not even seem to want to be in the class. Most likely he was only hanging round in order to... Harry looked at him more closely. It was entirely possible that Rhonestaadt had only taken the class in order to dig up dirt on Malfoy.

Harry turned his attention back to Malfoy, wondering if there was any dirt worth digging there. What had Malfoy been doing prior to opening his little photography studio? Harry didn't know, but it might be worthwhile to find out. He smiled at Malfoy, whose words faltered for a moment before he glared at Harry and continued on.

"As I was saying, centring your subject will not often make a good photo. It can be quite boring. Secondly, alter your approach. Either step closer or farther away. Thirdly, change the perspective. Try a top or bottom view. Look at it from a side-angle or even from across the room. For a demonstration, I would like each of you to come up here and take three photos of this bowl of fruit. In the interest of time, you may each use my Insta-Camera with Auto-Steady enabled. Miss Simmons, the first three shots will be yours." Malfoy gestured at a camera that rested in mid-air near a table that contained a bowl filled with apples, pears, and grapes, decorated with an assortment of leaves. "Feel free to move the camera. It will freeze itself once you stop moving it."

Sarah walked forward and looked through the viewfinder before moving the camera and taking a photo. She moved it twice more--once nearly above the fruit, and one far off to the side--before stepping away.

"Very good. Mr Newberry, you are next."

Harry remembered the young man that had dropped the glass on Wednesday night. On his second shot, he dropped the camera, but a lightning-fast spell from Malfoy caught it before it hit the ground.

"Sorry," Newberry mumbled. "I'm really clumsy."

"No problem. Mindy warned me. Try again."

Harry relaxed and put his wand away. Malfoy's reflexes had been impressive, and his placid response was unexpected. Rhonestaadt was next, and barely seemed to look through the viewfinder before clicking. He seemed bored and not at all interested in photography.

When it was Harry's turn, he felt irritatingly self-conscious picking up the camera. He flushed when he realised that the only thing he had taken pictures of recently was his dick. He didn't want to seem as uninterested as Rhonestaadt, so he carefully studied the fruit and tried to remember Malfoy's rules.

 _Centring is not good_. He shifted to the side so that the apple was in the upper left quadrant.

 _Alter your approach_. He forgot what that meant, and then remembered it was to pull back or move closer. He chose to move back a pace, which made more of the window behind the bowl appear.

 _Change the perspective_. Most of the others had leant towards looking down at the fruit bowl from above, so Harry crouched to bring the window even more into the picture, and then focussed on the window panels as if the fruit were only in the shot as an afterthought, and the subject of the photo lay in the empty sky beyond the window.

He straightened after snapping the shot, feeling a bit stupid, since the assignment had been to take a photo of the fruit, so he next snapped a rather dull, face-on photo of the fruit (off-centred), and then took a third from behind, bringing the bowl into focus with the secondary intention of getting Malfoy into the shot. Unfortunately, he stepped away just before Harry pressed the button.

When the others had finished, Malfoy darkened the room with a quick flick of his wand, shutting the curtains simultaneously. At the same time, a white screen dropped from the ceiling and Draco positioned the camera before it.

"Let us look at our results," he said and then went through each image as it appeared on the screen, pointing out the successes and errors as they appeared. By the seventh image, Harry thought he was beginning to understand. It was rather easy to see which photos were visually interesting and which were boring, even though it was all the same subject matter.

"In the interest of time, we will go over only a few of those remaining." Malfoy flipped through the final two of Rhonestaad's photos and all of Harry's to stop on a shot belonging to Henrietta that was nearly all leaves--an extreme close-up. He pointed out the visual interest of the photo, which was quite good, as well as the primary flaw--a large grape marring one edge of the image--and then told them about cropping and how it could be best utilised to extract the excellent parts of a picture and leaving behind the rest. "Separating the chaff from the wheat, as it were."

A deft spell or two and the resulting image became far more visually interesting, especially when something caused one of the leaves to flutter. Malfoy announced it to be a very nice photo and Henrietta puffed up like a prized hen.

"Now, your assignments, which will be due on Monday evening, will be to take images of still items in your homes. Remember the rule of three--take at least three shots of each item because you will find that at least one of them will be crap. Five is even better, but don't go mad and take more than five because then you'll spend a ridiculous amount of time waffling between which of them is the best. Each of you should take photos of four objects or groupings of objects, and apply the rules you learnt tonight. Any questions?"

Henrietta raised her hand and asked if her garden counted as part of her home, to which Malfoy replied in the affirmative, and Newberry asked if pets were okay. "No," was Malfoy's reply, "because they are moving objects and require some additional instructions, so please stick with inanimate items for the time being."

Harry wrote down his assignment and got to his feet. He was hoping to catch Sarah outside, as they hadn't had a moment to talk during the class.

"Potter. Will you remain behind? I have a question."

Malfoy's request surprised him, but he nodded. Rhonestaadt took his sweet time packing up his camera, dawdling so obviously that Harry finally gave him a frown and a pointed stare. Sarah merely waved at Harry before leaving and he sighed, knowing Malfoy had ruined his opportunity to talk with her.

Finally, Rhonestaadt left, leaving Harry alone with Malfoy. "Yes?" he asked, possibly sharper than warranted.

To his surprise, Malfoy darkened the room again and pulled up Harry's photo of the window.

"Why did you take this shot?" Malfoy asked.

Harry looked at it, floundering. He had no idea why the photo would provoke a question. It looked fairly mundane to Harry, with the fruit in the lower left corner of the screen and the focus almost entirely on the crossbars of the window frame. Had he done it wrong?

"I... I don't know. I wanted it to be different from the others, and then it occurred to me that the fruit didn't have to be the subject of the photo. I suppose I wanted the sky to be the focus of the shot and the fruit to be more of an...anchor."

Malfoy was not looking at him, and was, in fact, staring at the photo. "Thank you, Potter."

Harry waited, but Malfoy did not elaborate. He wanted to ask whether or not it was a bad photo, but when he looked at it himself, he decided he liked it, and probably wouldn't appreciate a bad review. And it had been his very first attempt, after all. _Of course it's bad_ , he thought. "I'm here to learn, so I'm sure I will do better. You're," he grimaced, "a decent teacher."

Malfoy's grey eyes swept from the photo to fix on him. To Harry's surprise, a smile curved Malfoy's normally humourless lips. "Thank you, Potter. I will see you on Monday?"

Harry nodded, gave Malfoy a somewhat bemused smile, and went out.

Draco watched until the door closed behind Potter, and then he went back to studying the photo. Of all those taken during the session, only Potter had broken the boundaries of Draco's mundane instruction. The photo was brilliant--an expanse of blue broken with the crosspieces of the window-frame, with just the right amount of perspective added by the fruit bowl to give it an ethereal quality. The focus was on the window, rather than the bowl, making the viewer long to see what lay beyond the glass. Of course the only decent photo of the lot had been taken by Potter. _Of course._

Potter's other two photos had been crap, thankfully. It seemed that the Chosen One had merely got lucky with this single, amazing image. Draco cancelled the spell and sent the white screen back into the rafters. In the future, he would be sure to point out the flaws in Potter's photos. If he was cruel enough, perhaps the Saviour of the Wizarding World would quit the class and leave Draco in peace.

Rhonestaadt, on the other hand, needed to be dealt with.

When Harry got home, he took a photo of his cock. He thought about Malfoy the whole time, which actually worked to his advantage, even though it was disturbing. He thought about Malfoy's critical gaze and lean torso and white suit, and he was hard with only a stroke or two of his hands. He decided the bathroom lighting was too harsh, so he went into the bedroom and tugged open a curtain to throw a spear of light on the bed.

Then he lay down and shimmied out of his jeans. He thought about shucking his pants and throwing caution to the wind, but modesty won out yet again. Instead he settled for arranging his dick so that the hard length was clearly visible beneath the blue fabric.

Remembering the lesson, he held the camera so that--he thought--his cock was off-centre, and then he pulled back a bit, holding it at arm's length. He snapped several shots and hoped a few of them were in focus. Even though his camera was old, Harry had invested in a speed-processor just like Dean's. Film developing could be time-consuming, but this device made it simple. A dark room, a dip into a potion bath, a quick spell, and then hanging it to dry for thirty-seven seconds.

By the time he finished hanging the last photo, the first few were dry. He collected them all in a box and went back into the bedroom. (His darkroom was a modified broom cupboard.)

The first four were rejects, all of them either out of focus or with his penis out of the shot altogether. The fifth wasn't bad, except that the fingers of his left hand were visible, and the sixth was the best of the lot.

It showed possibly too much of his dark-haired happy trail, but the outline of his cock was very nice, and the light from the window fell straight across the centre of his cock, highlighting the middle portion with unusual visual interest. The angle was unfortunate--if he'd been able to, he would have turned the camera a bit more to the right, because the entire thing was centred, breaking the first rule.

Still, he thought it was a damn sight better than his first two attempts, so he packaged up the best one and sent it off to the irritating Cock Critiquer. If he got another Troll, he would have to throw his camera against the wall.

When the owl had gone, Harry sprawled back on his bed, thought of Malfoy again, and had a nice, long, satisfying wank. It was all the sweeter when he thought of how Malfoy's face would pinch up in distaste and outrage if he knew that Harry was wanking to him.

"Suck it, Malfoy," he murmured as he came.

The latest batch of cock photos was as dismal as ever. Draco tossed them aside in disgust. He didn't even want to look at them anymore. None of them were worthy of publication, and he was itching to write up new lesson plans for his photography class. He had never felt so important and fulfilled than when he'd had six pairs of eyes staring at him as though he had all of the answers. Which, strangely, he did.

Mindy tiptoed into the room with a packet and a cup of tea. "Here is a fresh cup for you, sir, and also the weekend post."

Draco sighed and pushed his tepid cup towards her. He supposed he should give her some sort of acknowledgement regarding her taking on his first class last week, when he'd been breaking the news to his mother.

"Mindy, I believe you are due a five percent pay increase."

She blinked at him. "Sir? I got a pay increase six weeks ago."

"Are you saying you don't want it?"

She shook her head wildly and backed away. "No! Of course I'm not saying that! Thank you, sir! I meant to say thank you very much!" With that, she fled, and Draco let out a pained sigh. Merlin, it was bloody difficult to find decent help these days. They couldn't even accept a decent gesture of appreciation without making it awkward.

Pansy swept in. "Did you give that twit another rise in pay?"

"How did you know?"

"She is browsing through catalogues."

Draco was impressed. His estimation of Mindy rose minutely. "That was quick."

"Yes, well, don't sound so pleased. Her catalogues of choice are _Cauldron and Crate_ and _Smather's Sensible Shoes_."

"Well, she's hardly the type to shop at Wanda's Wicked Wiles, now is she?"

Pansy took her usual spot on the edge of Draco's desk and picked up the weekend post. "She'd probably faint if she took one look at the Wicked Wand Collection. Oh, what have we here?" She selected a photo and held it up.

"Let me see that." Draco snatched it. He dropped it almost immediately with a sigh. "Amateur."

Pansy picked it up. "I know, but take a look at that prize. Merlin, the shape of it is utter perfection. I wonder if he could be coaxed to send another." She cocked her head and licked her lips.

Draco took the photo back, and had to admit that she had a point. The cock in question, completely hidden beneath lightly patterned blue pants, looked utterly delectable. _Dark-haired_ , he noted, eyeing the tracing of hair that led from the waistband to the edge of the photo, _and fit_ , if the brief glimpse of the man's abdominals was anything to go by.

"Really, the light from the window makes this almost laughable."

"Draco, that is a perfect cock."

"I cannot just critique the cock, Pansy, I have to take into account the entire thing. The lighting ruins this. And it's only barely in focus. And the angle is boring."

She said nothing, merely arched a brow, and he gave her a pout of defeat. There were no others of even similar quality, he knew, so he would throw the owner of the perfect cock a better score than he normally would.

"Fine. I will give it an A for Acceptable, because that is as generous as I can get."

Pansy smiled. "Good. Hopefully it will encourage him to send in an unclothed shot. I would love to wrap my tongue around... Oh, don't give me that look! You know the chances are higher that he bats for my team than yours. A girl can dream."

"Why do I let you in here?"

"How was class, Harry?" Hermione poured him a tall glass of pumpkin juice.

"It was good. Fine."

"Did you learn anything?"

"I learned that Draco Malfoy knows a lot about photography."

Ron looked up from where he'd been scooping potatoes onto his plate. "Malfoy?"

Harry nodded. "Believe me, I was surprised too."

"Draco Malfoy?"

"I'm pretty sure I said that, Ron."

"I haven't seen him round the past few years," George piped up as he dropped a basket of warm bread slices on the table. "Wonder what he's been up to?"

"I was hoping he'd been eaten by a thestral, or possibly smothered by a lethifold." Ron smiled dreamily, as if envisioning the gruesome scenarios.

"I don't think thestrals eat people." Angelina sat down next to George.

"Probably choke and die if they tried to eat Malfoy, anyway," Ron muttered.

Hermione brought out the roast chickens and everyone scrambled to make room for the large platter. Sunday dinners at the Weasleys were a tradition whether the elder Weasleys were in residence or not. Molly and Arthur had gone to Romania to visit with Charlie, who was still in the dragon-taming business and still "lamentably single" as Molly proclaimed often.

Bill had gone to Latvia to dig for some sort of goblin treasure, and Ginny was off starting the new Quidditch season with her latest boyfriend, the coach of the Tutshill Tornadoes.

Ron tore a leg and thigh section from one chicken and dropped it onto his plate before adding a spoonful of buttery sprouts. Hermione had turned into a passable cook, as had George, and there were no complaints about the meal.

"George made strawberry tart for afters, so save room," Angelina advised.

"There is always room for strawberry tart," Ron mumbled through a bite of bread.

"Ron, do swallow first, honestly." Hermione sighed after the quiet admonishment and dished up her own plate. "So you plan to keep going to class, Harry?

"Yeah. He actually had some really useful tips. That reminds me, I have to take some snaps for tomorrow's class."

"You can photograph me, Harry." Ron straightened and flexed his muscles

"Not sure your biceps count as inanimate objects. That's our first assignment."

"You can come down to Wheezes and take photos of the stock, Harry," George offered. "If they turn out decent, I can use them for advertising. Paid, of course."

Harry snorted. "I'm not good enough to be paid, but I'll do it anyway. Taking pictures of Moustache Mints and Pouty-lip Pops sounds much more fun that snapping photos of books or pillows at my place."

"Great! I'll expect you in the morning. Got some new stock that hasn't been unveiled yet."

Draco had intentionally left one wall of the flat blank, and he used temporary Sticking Charms to spread out all of the photos his class had taken. Most of them were perfectly predictable. Gladys had taken photos of teacups, vases, and a multi-coloured bundle of yarn, all quite dull even though most were off-centre and cockeyed. Henrietta had only snapped photos of flowers. There were roses and gladioli and snapdragons and mums, and some of them were quite good. She had captured a bee landing on one of the mums, and the lazy loop provoked the feeling of a slow, sweet summer day.

Orson Rhonestaadt hadn't even tried. Most of his images were out of focus, and it seemed likely he had remembered the assignment moments before rushing out the door. He had taken pictures of his tie, the same pair of shoes he currently wore, a bedpost, and a hideous-looking rug that had seen better days.

Jason, the clumsy lad, was apparently a Quidditch aficionado. He had selected multiple shots of brooms, most of which were not bad. The close-up of broom bristles was almost interesting, and the one with the glowing Nimbus logo would have been lovely if the plain wooden background hadn't pulled the attention into a void and out of the photo.

The American had taken predictable photos, obviously combining a sightseeing trip with her assignment. There were shots of stone lions, architecture, a wrought-iron gate, and a cobblestone path. All very dull and touristy. Draco nearly yawned when tacking them to the wall.

Potter's were surprising. Draco had fully expected photos similar to Rhonestaadt's, but instead Potter had produced whimsical, visually interesting pictures of George Weasley's products. In the first shot, a multi-coloured ball rested on a wooden table top, which was relatively uninteresting until it grew feet, feathers, and a huge tail that fanned out into blue-green brilliance. A peacock preened from the photo, exquisitely in-focus and just enough off-centre that the eye was drawn from the sweep of feathers to the creature's eye--just before it morphed back into a ball.

Another was a white bowl filled with brightly-coloured sweets against a pastel blue background. They looked tempting enough that the viewer would want to reach into the photo and take one. Even that was not the best of the lot. Draco had to reserve that honour for the tiny Candied Quidditch display. Miniature brooms made of spun sugar floated over a chocolate pitch, and gumball Bludgers soared between them, along with what had to be a malted milk chocolate Quaffle. The display barely moved, seeming to have been caught in time, almost like a Muggle photograph, until a hint of yellow appeared and traversed the photo, drawing the eye naturally into the scene--a lemony Golden Snitch. The entire thing was mesmerising, but Draco forced himself to give it only a cursory glance before tacking up Potter's rejects. Even those were not that bad.

"Harry! These are amazing!" Sarah, the American, clapped her hands in front of her face and fairly gushed at Potter, who tugged his forelock and smiled modestly.

"I got lucky with the subject matter. My friend owns the shop."

"I think I've heard of it. I need to go there, for sure!"

"If everyone will leave off the Potter worship and take their seats, I will go over your photos and we will discuss what might have worked better." He would have to resist suggesting "a fire" for some of them, particularly Rhonestaadt's.

Draco had arranged a row of chairs in front of the photo wall. Potter sat at one edge and Sarah plopped down immediately next to him. Rhonestaadt took the seat next to her, and then Gladys, Henrietta, and Jason.

"Jason," Draco said cheerfully, deliberately leaving Potter's for last in hopes they would run out of time to get to them. "We will begin with yours. Can anyone tell me whether or not this photograph is visually interesting, and if not what Jason might have done to make it better."

"Incendio?" Rhonestaadt muttered and Gladys tittered. Henrietta made an affronted noise and patted Jason on the arm.

"Twenty points from Rhonestaadt for rudeness," Draco said, suddenly feeling very much like Severus Snape, and enjoying it immensely. No wonder the old bastard had deducted house points so frequently.

"Hey! You never said there was a point system!"

"Well, there is now. We are all here to learn, not to criticise." He glanced over and found Potter staring at him as though he'd turned into something baffling. Before he was tempted to analyse it, Draco turned back to the photos. "Now, then. As you can see, the focus on this first photo is on this part of the broom handle..."

Harry was astounded. Although he had been willing to accept that Draco Malfoy had, quite possibly, changed for the better, he had never expected to hear him defend someone from casual bullying. After all, Malfoy had seemed to make it a personal goal to achieve bullying godhood whilst at Hogwarts. To see him cut down Rhonestaadt a notch was extremely satisfying. And baffling.

Harry shook off his astonishment and picked up his notepad, not wanting to miss any important titbits. The more Malfoy spoke, the more excited Harry became about wanting to take photos. He felt a spike of remorse at having been so annoyed with Colin Creevey back at school. It was likely that Colin had felt this same driving excitement, the bizarre need to rush out and record the world through a camera lens.

Sarah raised her hand at one point. "Mr Malfoy, which do you think is the best?"

Malfoy shook his head and smiled. "That is not a fair question at this point. All of you are still learning, so there is no competition. I would rather not demoralize someone into thinking they were not worthy, or assume they were untalented because someone else managed to take a lucky shot. Instead of worrying about who is the 'best' I think we will concentrate on our own personal bests, and work on making future shots better than these first attempts."

Harry estimation rose even further and he found himself watching Malfoy through new eyes, very appreciative new eyes that found Malfoy's newfound philosophy almost as entrancing as his clothing.

Malfoy had chosen to wear traditional robes that were almost as attractive as the white suit he'd worn on Saturday. The robes were dark violet in a light fabric that seemed to dance as he walked. They were edged in black, barely visible against the dark colour, and held together with jet black frogs in a Celtic pattern. The more Harry watched him, the more a painful sort of twist began to knit itself together somewhere in his midsection. His throat was so dry he thought he might have to stand up and seek out a glass of water to clench his thirst.

Sarah leaned close to him, distracting him from his increasingly panic-inducing thoughts. "Well," she whispered, "I think yours are the best. Clearly, you are the most talented amongst us."

Harry glanced up and met Malfoy's frigid stare. He had apparently heard her, and either disagreed or wanted her to remain silent. For a moment, Harry thought he would deduct house points from the both of them, and then had to smile as he wondered what sort of points Malfoy planned to deduct. As Malfoy pointed out a minute adjustment in one of Henrietta's photos that would have brought the image into greater symmetry, Harry decided it wasn't the proper to time to ask.

The class continued until Harry began to yawn. He wondered how the others dealt with evening classes; he didn't even have a day job and he was exhausted.

"Your assignment for Wednesday's class is to take some photographs of moving subjects. It doesn't have to be anything too dramatic. Snap your neighbours walking past, or people in Diagon Alley. Take photos of your pets, or ducks on the pond. Remember to _lead_ them, and keep in mind the lessons you've already learned."

"Circe, this is so complicated. I knew it would be, but I thought the camera would be the most confusing part, not all of this... composition." Sarah waved her hand at the wall as she got to her feet.

Harry laughed. "Yeah, I thought I could buy a couple of lights and start taking great shots."

They walked towards the door. Rhonestaadt had already blustered out, and Gladys was right behind him, pulling on a huge cloak that looked far too warm for the weather. Henrietta wrestled with her camera whilst trying to put on a crocheted wrap. Harry hurried over to help her and she gave him a toothy smile.

"Such a nice man, Mr Potter."

Jason was chatting up Malfoy near the photo display. Harry glanced at them both and felt a frown of dismay pull at his lips, wondering if Jason was flirting with Malfoy, until he remembered that not everyone was gay. In fact, it was extremely likely that they were both straight and that Harry was a complete idiot. He rolled his eyes and took his own cloak from the peg.

Sarah had already slung on a Muggle-style hoodie. She grinned at him and he reached for the door to hold it open for her. "Thank you, Harry, you _nice man_."

"Potter! If you please, I would like a word." Malfoy's words caught Harry mid-step.

He hovered awkwardly in the doorway and then gave Sarah a smile. "See you on Wednesday?"

"You bet!" With that, she trotted down the steps and Harry turned back into the room just as Jason slid past him with a mumbled, "Night, Mr Potter."

Harry bid Jason a goodnight although he was already halfway down the steps before he got the words out. He shook his head and shut the door before turning back to Malfoy.

"Yes?" he asked cautiously.

Malfoy was stood at the photo wall, staring at Harry's pictures. "Did George Weasley assist you with these? Or anyone else?"

Harry frowned. "No. I took them on my own."

"But someone else set them up for you?"

"What are you getting at? No, I did them all myself. George gave me a stack of products and an empty room and told me to have at it. Why are you asking?"

Malfoy turned and walked towards him. His face looked angelic and he gave Harry a smile that could have meant anything or nothing. "No reason at all, Potter. Have a good night."

Harry had been gearing up for an argument, but Malfoy's lack of aggression left him with nothing to fight. He floundered for something to say, but could only nod and open the door again.

"You'll be back on Wednesday, then?" Malfoy asked.

Harry nodded, still off-balance. "Yeah, of course."

Malfoy smiled at him again and for some reason it seemed almost predatory. And very attractive. "Good. Have a nice evening, Potter."

"Yeah. You, too, Malfoy," Harry muttered and went out. That smile would haunt him for the rest of the night, and sustain him through a much-needed (and very satisfying) wank the moment he got home.

Harry flipped eagerly through the magazine, hoping that his latest photo had been critiqued. His heart gave a jump when he spotted it, although he was almost afraid to see the words beneath. He steeled himself and read.

**_This looks to be a very fine specimen and the tease is nice (it definitely makes us want to see more) but the angle of the photo is dull and the lighting is atrocious, pulling the eye out of the shot and away from where the focus should be. Please try again and thank you for submitting your photo. I give this an A for Acceptable._ **

Harry let out the breath he'd been holding. At least it wasn't a Troll, but how could it exceed expectations when the critiquer had no idea who he was, and therefore could have no expectations at all. He wrinkled his nose at his meaningless thoughts and reread the critique. He bit his lip at the **_makes us want to see more_** portion. He had been reluctant to bare his cock for the world to see, but there was no way anyone would know it was him. All post was sent to an anonymous drop-box in Diagon Alley, so even if someone spotted his owl (although he'd intentionally purchased a very dull, average-looking bird) they wouldn't know which photo was his, or even if he'd sent in a strongly-worded letter of protest about the magazine showing indecent photos. He chuckled at the thought.

His attention returned to the photo and he studied it with a critical eye. He had thought the natural lighting would add drama to the photo, but the critique was right, it seemed too harsh to add any sense of romance, and the strong lines of it pulled the eye to the top of the frame. He sighed.

Merlin, perhaps he would ask Malfoy about lighting during the next photography class. In the meantime, he needed to get busy taking action shots. Jason was almost guaranteed to take photos of Quidditch, and Henrietta seemed determined not to leave her garden, which would likely produce several butterfly and bird photos. Sarah would probably find something interesting to shoot and he had no idea what Gladys would come up with.

He glanced out the window. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon, so he decided to head to a nearby Muggle park. There would likely be plenty of action there, and looking at photos of Muggles would probably irritate Malfoy. So deciding, Harry hurried to fetch his camera.

Draco looked at the photos he'd tacked to the wall, which moved in a veritable jumble of colours, speeds, and directions. Quidditch players and balls looped and swooped through Jason's photos, and bees lazily buzzed through Henrietta's. Sarah had taken photos of people at the Ministry--stepping from the Floo, casting Summoning Charms from their desks, tapping their feet whilst waiting for the lift--many of them were quite good. Gladys had apparently caused random items in her house to float, spin, and fly whilst she took photos of them. All were perfectly wretched. Rhonestaadt had not attended class, and Draco hoped to have seen the last of him.

Potter, of course, had chosen the most annoying route, and had also taken the most interesting photos. A Muggle girl with a bouncing horse's tail and bright yellow clothing jogged through one idyllic scene; ducks fluttered on a pond and then took flight; a small child stared from the photo and took a lick from a dripping ice cream cone;; and a very fit, shirtless man flexed his muscles and winked as he lifted a water bottle and poured it over his head. Draco watched the rivulets dribble down over the man's abs and felt a surge of something akin to jealousy. Was the man a friend of Potter's? And why had Potter taken this particular shot? Was he mocking Draco's sexuality, or was there some other meaning behind the beefcake picture?

"Holy shit, why didn't I think of taking pictures of hot guys?" Sarah fanned herself, bending closer to stare at the photo.

Potter laughed. "Hey, the girl was hot, too."

"What girl?" Sarah asked, still staring at the photo.

"Never mind that," Draco said. "In the interest of time, I will critique all of these individually and return them to you on Saturday. Today we will begin the rudimentary aspects of lighting, which is the second most important thing next to composition."

"Brilliant!"

Draco lifted a brow at Potter's outburst and met an annoyingly pleased-looking smile. Bloody hell, did the prat have to be so attractive? Draco gave him a tentative return smile, stupidly pleased to have initiated the one on Potter's face.

Forcing himself to walk away from Potter, he launched into an explanation of how lighting can set a scene, establish a mood, and either enhance or destroy a photo.

"Broad, soft light will lessen contrast and create fewer shadows. You will want to experiment with different light sources, so your assignment for this evening will be to select a single item--a Quaffle, for example," Draco looked pointedly at Jason, "and photograph it in different light sources. This will give you a feeling for what different types of lighting will do to your subject. One of the tools that will assist you with this is a simple Light Spell. It's possible that although you've been casting this spell since childhood, you've not done much with it other than brightening and dimming it."

Most of them nodded in agreement, including Potter, and Draco lifted his own wand. "What you might not know is that it is also possible to do this." He cast a Lumos and then brightened it until they all shielded their eyes, and then he softened it until it seemed to be a huge ball of glowing mist. Sarah made an "ooooo" sound and Jason gasped.

"You can also change the colour." Draco turned the ball of light pale blue. "Or create a spotlight." He shrank the ball, brightened the blue light, and then gave it a directional cone shape. "The problem with this, of course, is that you will need to hold the wand and that makes photo taking difficult. Some of these are best done with an assistant. Teach them how to create the proper lighting, and you focus on the photographs."

"Don't they sell directional lighting?" Potter asked.

Draco gave him a brief sneer, but then remembered himself and changed his snide comment into something more professional. "Yes, Potter, but they can be very expensive and could prove to be a waste of time and resources for beginners. It will take some time before each of you learns to develop your own style. Some of you will prefer bolder, outdoor photos, whilst others of you may go with higher contrast, more dramatically lit scenes. Personal preference will have a lot to do with your later purchases, including cameras, and the purpose of this class is to teach you which things work best for you. At this stage, experimentation is key."

They all nodded as though Draco held the wisdom of a wizened Headmaster, and he clapped his hands after quenching the light from his wand. "Now it is time to play. I have set up various light sources around the room with notecards explaining each one. You may keep the cards for reference for your assignments. There are six stations, although it seems Mr Rhonestaadt has abandoned us."

"Good," Sarah muttered to Potter, who snorted a laugh. Draco might have liked the chit if she wasn't always half-hanging over Potter.

"Everyone please select a station," Draco ordered, and allowed himself a smug smile when Sarah obediently moved away from Potter and trotted towards a brightly lit desk. Being in charge was wonderful, he decided.

 


	2. Part Two

Harry's brain felt stuffed with knowledge. He hadn't learned so much since leaving Hogwarts. In fact, he hadn't learned so much at Hogwarts, or at least it seemed so, and he would never admit such a thing to Hermione.

He went straight home after class (feeling slightly disappointed that Malfoy hadn't asked him to stay after this time) and pulled out copies of his earlier cock photos. He sat down on the bed and shook his head with dismay. They were absolutely dreadful, and now he knew why. The composition was off, and the lighting--Merlin, he was lucky to have earned an A on the last photo, due to the ridiculous lighting!

He sprawled back on the bed with a groan. He had always thought that photography was a simple thing. You point the lens at a target and press the button. Sometimes they turned out blurred, yeah, but there was no art to it. He could not have been more wrong.

He sat up with new determination. His next cock picture would hopefully earn him a better mark. He wanted at least an E, and he would shoot for an O. Exceeds Expectations would be, well, exceeding his expectations, but an Outstanding would be something to hold over Seamus and Dean's heads forever. He paused, biting his lip. Of course, they could never know which photo was his. How was he to let them know of his success?

He shook his head, driving the niggling thought away. He was pretty certain which recent cock photo had been Dean's judging by the mass of flesh taking up most of the photo and earning an N for Needs Work and the rather scathing critique that contained the words "bloody hell, man, back the lens up a room length or two! No need to bludgeon the readers with your immensity, although certain size queens are most likely writing to us now to request your contact information". Harry chuckled, remembering it. Naturally, he didn't dare mention it to Dean, but he planned to have a huge laugh over it with Seamus later.

There was no way of telling which of the submissions had belonged to Seamus. Harry could only comfort himself with the fact that there had been no Outstandings at all since they had drunkenly decided to send their cocks in for evaluation.

Harry looked around the room. It was dark but for a single candle, which might make for a decent start, although it was far too dim to work as an adequate light source. He removed his robes, reflecting idly that Malfoy certainly knew how to dress. Tonight he had worn something guaranteed to drive Harry to distraction. Slate-coloured trousers had hugged his legs whilst a black, Mandarin-style tunic had clung to his torso, revealing Malfoy's ridiculously fit shape. Every time he had moved, Harry had nearly broken his neck twisting to catch the lines revealed. He had stared at Malfoy for so long at one point that he'd been caught; Malfoy had arched a brow at him, startling Harry out of his deep contemplation of the various muscles that made up Malfoy's back and sides.

"Um..." Harry had blurted, face flaming as he'd tried to think of an excuse for staring. "Spell to colour the light?"

Malfoy had wandered over and spent the next ten minutes guiding Harry through the movements of the colourisation spell, which had been infinitely worse than ogling him from across the room, honestly. Harry discovered he was half-hard now, remembering.

Despite his need to tear the rest of his clothing off and wank, he resisted. There was something he needed to do, after all. Twenty minutes later, he decided the scene would have to do, and then he took off everything, grabbed an embroidered silk handkerchief (that had been a joke gift from George), and arranged himself carefully on the bed. With a grim sense of determination, he picked up his camera and his wand and set to work.

Draco banged into his office on Friday in a black mood. He had spent most of Thursday at the Manor catching up on accounts, paying bills, stocking the larder, and dealing with the endless house-elf complaints. At an ungodly hour of the morning, he had finally sought his bed and the much-desired peace of a good sleep, only to be haunted with visions of messy black hair, green eyes, and a body to _Crucio_ for, until he had given up, wanked himself into a stupor, and fallen asleep without cleaning up. Waking with his pubic hairs matted together and with his sheets reeking of his release had done nothing to improve his mood.

"Potter is not that fit," he snarled as he flung himself into his chair. "Mindy!" he bellowed, fully intending to share his foul mood with as many unwilling victims as possible.

She bolted into the room, looking panicked. "Sir?"

"If I do not have a cup of steaming hot, very strong, tea in my hand in the next five minutes I might actually hex a hole into that wall right there and hurl this desk through it."

Mindy nodded. "Hot tea, right away. Yes, sir. You might want to open that envelope on your desk before hurling it, also. Just a suggestion." With those cryptic words, she fled.

Draco drummed his fingers on the desk, looking at the plain white envelope with rapidly growing dislike. Perhaps he should _Incendio_ it without looking. That would probably disturb Mindy greatly. Draco gritted his teeth in a faux-smile and then sighed. Salazar, he was becoming too professional for his own good. He supposed it would be bad press for Mindy to run to the papers and exclaim that he'd gone mad for no reason.

"I've gone mad because of Harry Potter," he muttered. "That should be reason enough for any man."

Allowing himself a heartfelt sigh of self-pity, he lifted the envelope and opened it up. By the time Mindy returned, he still hadn't moved.

"Nice, isn't it?" she asked as she placed the tea on his desk. Before he could reply, she had scurried out.

Draco blinked after her for a moment and then went straight back to staring at the prize before him. It was a bloody masterpiece. He felt a moment of pure, unbridled anger at Mindy for having seen it--the charlatan, and he'd thought her so innocent and naïve--and then he went back to admiring it.

A long, lovely line of torso was mostly in shadow, but lit along one gorgeous, off-centre line that highlighted every curve of muscle along its route from one dark nipple to the delicate curve of bright red cloth. From the edge of cloth, the eye was naturally drawn to the swell that rose up until it burst free only to be covered modestly by a sweep of hand. Draco wanted to knock the hand away, to feast upon the luscious cock only barely exposed. He wanted to taste it, and to link his fingers with those shown, and draw them away more gently.

He forced himself to examine the hand. The fingers were lightly curved over the head of the cock, hiding it from view and then, just barely, squeezing it in a sensual caress. The movement was so minute that it was barely visible, and required watching over and over to appreciate the subtlety of it.

Draco swallowed hard, sweeping his gaze over the red cloth. It was hard to determine what it was--the edge of a robe, perhaps? Or maybe not, since it was obviously a light fabric, delicate enough to clearly outline the merest hint of the man's testicles...

"Fuck." Draco pushed the photo away and sat back in his chair, breathing more rapidly than he had been a moment ago. He shifted in his seat, quite uncomfortably hard, for the first time since he'd begun his endeavour to... well, to basically find fault in every single cock in the wizarding world.

This one, however, defied ridicule. The cock looked gorgeous, the pose was delicious, and the man's hands-- Draco snatched it up again and looked at them closer. The nails were not visible, unfortunately. Much could be determined by looking at a man's fingernails. His fingers were long and slender, however, and looked beautiful. Draco scanned the rest of the photo for identifying marks. The curl of a tattoo, anything. But nothing revealed itself.

Damn it. Draco would have paid handsomely to know the identity of the man. He had never cared to know any of his previous submissions, but this one drew him. He picked it up and shoved it back into the envelope. "For Salazar's sake, Draco, it's just another cock. Pull yourself together."

He pushed the envelope into a drawer and shut it decisively. The man probably had the face of a bugbear. He nodded, grasping at any straw available. A toothless, balding, bugbear with halitosis.

With his erection firmly in hand--figuratively and most certainly not literally--he drank his tea and started on the next selection of submissions. All was well.

All was well until dinner with his mother, at any rate.

"What is wrong, dear? You seem distracted."

Draco stopped poking at an asparagus spear and looked at her, trying to shake off the image that had burned itself into his brain. Merlin, he really needed to stop thinking about sex at the dinner table. And yet, how long had it been since he'd even wanted to have sex? Months, surely.

He forced a smile. "Nothing. I was just thinking about the Barnstead contract. He wants exclusive resale rights and I would consider giving that to him if he wasn't such an insufferable arse."

"Draco, language!" She picked up her wineglass. "Still, you are right. He's quite boorish. No wonder his wife left him for that half-blood parchment salesman. What was his name?" She took a drink and drifted off into her own thoughts again, successfully shoved away from worrying about Draco by the usual mention of business. Although Draco had to admit that her knowledge of gossip had come in handy more than once when it came to business dealings.

Barnstead's marital problems were old news, however, so Draco bit into his asparagus and allowed his own thoughts to drift back to his over-starved libido. How long since his wretched breakup with Stanton? He frowned as he realised that it was the first time he'd been able to think of Stanton without a stab of pain in his chest. Perhaps it was true after all that time healed all wounds, even those inflicted by miserable, cheating, egocentric _liars_.

Draco viciously stabbed another hapless vegetable, imagining it was Stanton's smug face. Thank Merlin the bastard had fucked off to Belgium before Draco could hunt him down and remove a couple of extremities, or he might now be lamenting the quality of the food in Azkaban. Thoughts of murderous revenge had entertained Draco for months, and had led to him starting his cock critique column. Stanton had been a fan of taking photos of his cock, and Draco had posted several of the worst ones in the magazine with scathing reviews, knowing fully well that Stanton had a subscription. It gave Draco a warm feeling when he thought of Stanton reading about his pathetic, Troll-grade cock. Honestly, it was the one thing Draco didn't miss about his ex. Stanton's cock had been somewhat on the short side, and leaned sharply to the left, which had always bothered Draco's sense of aesthetics. Coupled with wretched picture-taking skills and the fact that he'd been a selfish wanker in bed had left Draco with plenty of ammunition with which to destroy him.

He sighed as he realised it had also left him without a proper seeing-to in far too long. Draco had fallen for Stanton's wit and charm, but his bedroom talents had been pathetic and it wasn't until now that Draco fully understood that. What he wanted was a night of brilliant, mind-blowing, awesome sex with a gorgeous cock--preferably like the one he couldn't get out of his head--on someone who knew how to use it. In short, Draco needed to get laid.

"I think I will head home, Mother. I am wretched company this evening and I apologise for it."

She smiled at him. "Do not worry about it, darling. We all have off days."

He nodded and got to his feet before rounding the table and placing a kiss on her cheek. "Goodnight. I will pop in to check on you this weekend." She returned his valediction and Draco Flooed home. There he wandered despondently around his flat and wrestled with the fact that short of going out to some horrid club, there was no one he could think of to take care of his current problem.

Annoyingly, the least suitable person ever was the one that kept springing to mind. Finally, Draco could take it no more. He crouched before his Fireplace and tossed in a handful of Floo powder. "Harry Potter!" he called.

Enough time passed that Draco had decided that Potter wasn't home, and then a bespectacled face appeared in the flames. "Malfoy?"

"Hello, Potter. I wondered if I could speak with you about..." Salazar, what the fuck was he doing, calling Potter? The man was probably straight, despite what the Daily Prophet loved to insinuate, and famous, and mostly hated Draco. "Ah...about tomorrow's lesson."

"Oh." Potter looked suitable confused, even with the flames distorting his features. "All right. Come on through."

Wrestling with the urge to apologise, end the call, and flee to bed to bury himself beneath his comforter and possibly smother himself with it, Draco took a grip on himself, got to his feet, and stepped through.

He looked around the dark, low-ceilinged room and took in the antique furnishings and stately period pieces. "Interesting. Not what I expected."

Potter's eyes narrowed. "What did you expect?"

For a long moment, Draco couldn't remember what he didn't expect, because he'd finally got a good look at Potter, only to find that Potter was wearing wine-coloured pyjama pants and a dressing gown. Except that Potter seemed to have lost the belt to said dressing gown and therefore it was hanging open to the waist, exposing far too much of Potter's chest, phenomenal abdominal muscles, navel, and extremely lickable happy trail...

Draco coughed and tore his eyes back to Potter's face. "What?"

Potter stared at him. "You, um. You said something wasn't what you expected."

Draco turned his attention to the room, thankful for the reminder. Salazar, he'd caught the slightest hint of a bulge in Potter's pyjamas and dared not look more closely, lest Potter determine his level of interest. "Right. The décor. I had pegged you for something more modern. Pale walls, straight lines. That sort of thing."

Potter chuckled. "Oh. You'll want to see my bedroom, then."

Draco gaped at him. "Your bedroom?"

"Yeah, come on. I'll show you." With that, Potter turned and disappeared through an archway. Draco followed, feeling a bit dazed that he had only been in Potter's house for two minutes and was already being taken to Potter's bedroom, although not for any of the reasons Draco had fantasised.

He followed Potter up a narrow set of stairs and then into the first door on the left. The house was uniformly dark and somewhat depressing--until they reached the bedroom.

"Voila!" said Potter with an expansive gesture. "Better?" He smiled at Draco and then pulled out his wand and snapped a few spells to pick up random articles of clothing, spare papers, and some stray dishes. Everything flew around in a whirlwind--the dishes sailed past Draco's head and out the door, hopefully to make it to the kitchen in one piece. "Sorry. I wasn't expecting company."

Draco ignored that, although he was glad to hear it. The bedroom was much improved from the rest of the dimly lit house. The walls were honey coloured with lighter, swirling bits of pattern that resembled paisley, but with a more delicate, whimsical flair, and the curtains were broad slabs of pale gold, centred with diaphanous white that would likely let in plenty of natural daylight on bright days. The furnishings were pale wood, maple or ash, most likely, with solid, straight lines and few embellishments. A knotted, multi-coloured rug covered most of the dark floor and kept the room from looking dull. If Draco hadn't previously encountered Potter's artistic side, he would have been amazed.

"It's quite nice, Potter. I'm impressed." Draco walked into the room, eyes drawn to the huge landscape painting that hung over Potter's bed. The scene picked up many of the hues in Potter's room, and added and expanse of blue-grey. It was a vaguely stormy seascape, with white breakers touching a sandy beach. Seabirds cavorted near a lone outcropping of rock. It was peaceful, if a trifle lonely-looking.

"More of what you expected then?"

"Quite, except that I generally preferred to entertain the notion that your bedroom was entirely Gryffindor red with massive, gilt-covered furnishings, and Golden Snitches adorning your tacky curtains. Possibly with a life-sized poster of some Quidditch player above your bed. Martina Martinez, perhaps."

"You've thought about my bedroom before, then?" Potter's tone was teasing and Draco refused to look at him in order to avoid giving credence to his question. "And it's Angelo Belbin. He's in the den."

"Angelo Belbin is in the den?" Draco did look at him then, and met Potter's stupidly attractive smile.

"His Quidditch poster is. I put it above my desk, not that I use my desk much anymore since I quit the Aurors."

Draco thought about Angelo Belbin, a fit blond Chaser for the Kenmare Kestrels. It was an interesting choice. "Why did you quit the Aurors?" He picked up a book on Potter's nightstand and was surprised by the title. Majestically Magical Photography Phacts. He flipped through it idly, rolling his eyes at the cutesy spelling.

"Too much bloody paperwork, too many office politics, and not enough... I dunno, not enough _saving people_ , as Hermione liked to put it."

Draco dismissed the book as barely tolerable and likely to give Potter bad habits. He mentioned it as he placed it back on the table. He brushed his fingers over the bedspread as he turned away, admiring the height of the bed as well as the blues, browns, and golds of the bedspread. The four-poster stood on a short dais that brought the mattress up to nearly hip-height; and two short wooden steps provided access.

A bit of bright red caught Draco's eye and he reached over onto the bed to pick up a silky handkerchief with satiny embroidery. He smirked as he trailed his fingers over the stitching. "This seems a bit more ostentatious than your usual fare. And monogrammed, no less."

To his amazement, Potter walked over and fairly snatched the handkerchief away with a brilliant blush. "Godric, this was George's idea of a joke. I just. Um." Potter marched over to a drawer and stuffed the silk inside. Draco lifted a brow, taken aback by Potter's mortification regarding a simple kerchief. It was almost as if he'd been...

Draco looked at the bed, and then back at Potter, and found himself imagining a naked Potter atop the bed drawing red silk over his erect cock... And that led him to remember the very erotic cock photo that had put him into a complete tizzy since the moment he'd seen it...

"Circe and the bloody Wild Hunt," Draco murmured, feeling faint. He reached out a hand to steady himself on the bed.

"Are you all right?"

It couldn't be! There was no possible way that Harry Potter could have sent in that brilliant, enticing, sexy as fuck photo. _No way in hell_. "I'm fine," Draco replied, thoughts still whirling.

"What did you want, anyway?"

"Oh." Salazar, what had he wanted with Potter? Even the vaguest idea escaped him. He needed to get out, go somewhere that he could think. "Nothing. Never mind, Potter." Draco strode to the door, intending to get back to the fireplace and flee. Potter caught his wrist.

"Wait! Malfoy--"

Draco jerked his arm, but instead of pulling free of Potter the movement pulled Potter to him. Of course the prat couldn't simply let go, and he ended up with his face inches from Draco's.

"Maybe what I wanted was this, Potter," Draco growled and took a pivoting step before pushing Potter up against the frame of the door. And then he kissed him.

As kisses went, it wasn't Draco's best effort, but then he seldom gave into such ridiculous impulses and for a heartbeat or two he couldn't do more than press his lips to Potter's and wait to see if a retaliatory shove was forthcoming. When that did not immediately happen--probably due to Potter's shock--Draco turned his head and softened the kiss into something more coaxing and less desperate.

Potter didn't move at all and Draco pulled away with a soft sigh of longing tinted with regret. And then he continued his flight, taking the steps so quickly he later wondered if he had touched them at all. He thought he heard Potter yell, "Malfoy!" just as he snatched up a handful of Floo powder, but by then nothing short of a Stunner could have stopped him.

He stepped into the flames and away.

As soon as he stepped into his flat, Draco locked down the Floo. As he walked away from the fireplace, he grew increasingly panicked. He strengthened the wards, put up Post Refusal Charms, and then sprawled face down on his bed with a sound of dismay. What the hell had he done?

Well, obviously, he had kissed Harry Potter, but _what the hell had he done_?

His career as a photography teacher was over, and what was left of his reputation would be smeared all over the papers until he'd be unable to show his face for another five years. How would they spin it? **_Pathetic crush leads to assault? Former Death Eater chooses for the Chosen One? Worlds Saviour Presses Charges?_**

Draco rolled over to glare at the ceiling. Perhaps he could say he was drunk. No, under a spell! A curse! That might work. He would have to research to find something plausible, of course, and then locate someone suitable to pin it on...

He sat up with a frown. Why hadn't Potter fought back? What if he had wanted Draco to kiss him? What if he really had sent in the photograph to be critiqued? The thought made him pause. What if...?

Draco pushed himself to his feet and went to find the photo in question. He'd brought it home from the office to keep it safe from Mindy's lascivious clutches, and for no other reason. He walked to his desk and picked up the envelope from the pile of previous critiques, and then slipped the photo out to look at it again. The red silk was a distinct match--colour-wise, at least--to Potter's silken handkerchief.

Draco traced the contours of the cock with one index finger and then tossed the photo onto the desk. It didn't mean anything! Bloody hell, why had he combined his appreciation for the photograph with his growing crush on Potter and let it drive him to absolute insanity? He sneered. There was nothing special about that cock after all, it looked just like--

He snatched at the wooden box on his desk and began to sort through the photos. Something was tickling at his memory. Something familiar.

He didn't have to seek far. Blue pants, dark happy trail, barely tolerable photo. Draco had given it an A on Pansy's insistence, based on the merits of the outline of the fabulous cock beneath the blue pants. Draco lifted the photo and placed it next to the other. The similarities were obvious.

With a sudden impulse, Draco went back to the stack and began to flip through them, searching for any others with analogous properties. He was just about to give up when he reached a photo of a concealed cock within a pair of unzipped Muggle jeans. He'd given the photo a Troll due to the horrid composition and lighting, but taking the cock on its own merits was a different story.

Draco lined up the three photos side by side. Muggle jeans, and progressively better photo quality. And Potter was in Draco's photography class.

Draco sat back in his chair and licked his lips, imagining he could still taste Potter there. He felt like laughing at himself, because irony was a strong presence in his life. Draco had lusted himself into having a crush on the man beneath the red silk, and foolishly allowed himself to have a similar crush on Potter. Obviously his emotions were getting out of control, possibly due to an extreme lack of sex.

The solution was obvious. He needed to get laid. Hopefully before Potter pressed charges. Thinking about sex and Potter in the same moment was not helping Draco's predicament, however, as he realised the only one he wanted was Potter. The kiss had only made things worse; now Draco wanted him with an ache that was becoming painful.

The fact that Potter hadn't pushed him away meant nothing. Draco had forced himself on him, after all. The fact that a team of Aurors hadn't appeared at his door to drag him off on charges of assault was surprising. For the first time since his impulsive flight, Draco began to wish he hadn't left. If only he'd stayed to find out how Potter felt about it.

"Certainly he liked it and wants to begin a torrid romance with you, Draco," he muttered to himself bitterly and then wrenched at his buttons to prepare for bed, although he doubted he would get much sleep.

Tomorrow he would arrange for Mindy or Pansy to take over his class whilst he figured out a way to avoid Potter for the rest of eternity.

Harry waited three minutes and then he silently ascended the stairs and turned the door handle. It swung open without a sound and he smirked at the knowledge that sometimes a Slytherin's need to be stealthy worked to his advantage. No Slytherin, or former Slytherin, that Harry knew would ever let a door hinge squeal.

Malfoy was stood at the sideboard that held the liquor--and also the tea, which Malfoy was currently preparing by stuffing leaves into a metal ball. A steaming mug rested near his hand. Harry waited until Malfoy dropped the tea ball into the mug. His blond head was bent and he looked tired. Harry could relate.

He dropped the invisibility cloak and slammed the door shut, drawing Malfoy's attention and also his wand. Harry ignored the potential threat and stalked forwards.

"We need to have a chat about that curious incident that happened last night. Why did you kiss me? And why did you _leave_ and then put yourself on lockdown? Was that display meant to drive me mental? Because if so, it succeeded, thank you very much." As Harry shouted he continued to advance on Malfoy until the tip of his wand seized up against his chest.

For once, Malfoy seemed to have nothing to say. His grey eyes were wide and unblinking and Harry felt a surge of satisfaction that he'd at least got even for the mind-numbing shock Malfoy had induced in him the night before. He'd been so astonished at Malfoy _kissing him_ that by the time he'd recovered his ability to think straight, Malfoy had been down the stairs and gone. Harry had tried reaching him by Floo and owl for nearly an hour before giving up.

"We're closed," Malfoy said, although his expression didn't change.

The statement was so unexpected that it startled a laugh from Harry. "Merlin, you are maddening." With that, he reached out and dragged Malfoy into a kiss. He'd been too astounded to appreciate it the night before, although he'd had a pleasant enough time revisiting it over and over during his hapless attempt at trying to sleep afterwards.

Malfoy's lips were pliant and soft, and just as unmoving as Harry's had been during their prior kiss. Harry pulled away and met his eyes again. "Why did you kiss me last night?"

For reply, Malfoy reached his free arm around Harry's neck and pulled him into yet another brilliant snog. This time there was no hesitation from either of them. Their lips met, parted, and turned into a near-battle of epic proportion, with neither of them stopping until the rattle of glass startled Harry. He had walked Malfoy back into the sideboard.

"You'll spill my tea," Malfoy said breathlessly against Harry's mouth.

"I'll spill more than that, you gorgeous prat."

"Are you here to punish me, because if this is how you intend to go about it, then I'm willing to submit."

The word _submit_ thrummed through Harry's ears, opening up an entirely new world of fantasies. His fingers tightened in Malfoy's shirt, a soft cashmere knit thing that felt brilliant even though Harry would like nothing more than to drag it over his head and bare his flesh to Harry's exploring hands and lips. "Yes. I'm here to punish you for driving me insane. I've wanted you since the first night you walked in here looking like...well, looking like you do, and then later I find that you've grown into an actual interesting human being instead of a sodding obnoxious cretin. That has only made it worse."

A pale brow lifted. "You--really?"

Harry gave him a shake. "Of course _really_. Now tell me why you kissed me last night."

"I Flooed over because I've been fantasizing about you for bloody days, and I had some mad notion that if I went to see you I would remember what a sodding annoying prat you are. And then you went and invited me into your _bedroom_ \--thank you for that, by the way, since it caused me to lose what little control I had left--"

Harry silenced him with another hard kiss, overwhelmed with the excellence of Malfoy's confession. The room went quiet then, with only the muted, gasping sounds of their snogging breaking the stillness. Finally, Harry forced himself to pull away, afraid that he might come in his pants like a green teenager. His hands had roamed over every part of Malfoy they could reach, and his fingers itched to slide beneath clothing and touch bare skin. He wasn't certain how far Malfoy's interest went. He might have changed his mind in the previous quarter hour or so, though he supposed it was a slim chance judging by Malfoy's current rumpled state.

Malfoy tipped his head back and looked at Harry through grey eyes that looked somewhat dazed, although his smile held the definite shadow of his old cocky smirk. "Potter?"

Harry found a grin pulling at his lips. "Yeah?"

"Why are you stopping?"

Although he'd stopped kissing Malfoy, Harry hadn't stopped touching him, and he squeezed the taut muscles just above Malfoy's pelvic bone, dreaming of how they would feel with Malfoy stretched out beneath him. Or above him; he didn't much care which. "I don't want our first time to be leaning against a liquor cabinet with your tea and fancy bottles of whiskey at risk."

"First time. I like the sound of that. Do you mean something like a bed?"

Harry nodded so agreeably that he thought his neck might snap. "Yes, absolutely. A bed. And also without the possibility of random friends and strangers walking in on us."

Malfoy pursed his lips and glanced at the door. He reached behind him--both wands had ended up on the sideboard--and picked up his wand to cast a series of Locking Charms on the door. "That won't hold Pansy, but it should work for everyone else."

Harry lifted a bemused brow. "I hope that means you plan to Apparate us out of here."

"No need." With that, Malfoy pushed away from the sideboard and his overly-strong, cooling cup of forgotten tea. He walked across the room to a curtained-off corner. Harry had assumed it to be full of stored items, possibly boxes and papers and the sorts of things that lived in Harry's attic. His surprise was all the greater for that assumption when Malfoy yanked the curtain aside and then gave him a beautiful smirk.

"A bed. You have a _bed_ in your photography studio?" Harry's words grew sharper towards the end as he was assailed with images of Malfoy in the bed with other people.

A sharp smack on his arm drew his attention to Malfoy, who glared at him. "It's for boudoir photos, you arse. Pansy says they are all the rage."

The ice in Harry's veins thawed as quickly as it had formed. "Boudoir photos." He took a deep breath and forced a smile, trying to come to grips with the fact that for a moment he'd been ragingly jealous. "I see. How many of those have you taken?"

"Not a single one. In fact, other than Pansy, I don't believe this bed has seen any use at all." With that, he crawled onto it, toeing off his fancy shoes as he went. Harry's libido perked up. And then a thought occurred to him.

"Pansy?"

Malfoy snorted. "Fear not, she's only been in it for a moment. As far as I know, she hasn't broken it in properly. And believe me, I would much prefer to remain in ignorance than learn otherwise." With that, Malfoy rolled onto his back and sprawled out, looking at Harry like a delectable invitation. To enhance the image, Malfoy held out a beckoning hand.

Harry hesitated, remembering that they were in Malfoy's photography studio. He glanced around for cameras and then recalled that he had come here with the intent to confront Malfoy; he hadn't been lured here. At least, he hoped not. If it had been an elaborate trap, he'd fallen straight into it. Then again, Malfoy hadn't been all that successful in his previous attempts at plotting. He was rather shite at it.

"Potter?"

Throwing caution to the wind, Harry walked forward, took Malfoy's hand, and slid onto the bed. If it was blackmail Malfoy planned, then Harry would make it worth his while. Harry crawled over him in what he hoped was a predatory fashion and then hovered over him, arms stiff, and glasses nearly slipping off his face.

Malfoy smiled, and it was such a charming and utterly disarming sight that Harry felt his heart skip a few beats. It seemed like the sun had peered out from between perpetually raining clouds, and lit up the entire room.

"I've never seen you smile like that," Harry commented, not even bothering to hide his enchantment.

"I keep it locked away, only to use on special occasions."

"When was the last special occasion?" Harry asked and then nearly kicked himself for the question when Malfoy's sunny expression faltered.

"Far too long ago. And it wasn't that special."

Harry wanted that smile back. And he wanted to keep it there for a very long time. He wanted it with an intensity that surprised him. "Well, then, we'll have to try and make this _extra_ special to make up for that, yeah?" He grinned, but softly, so that Malfoy might know he meant his words.

To his delight, the smile returned, just a flash of brilliant teeth, but it was enough. "I approve." And then Malfoy flung his hands back over his head, sprawling as though he'd just fallen. His voice ratcheted into the falsetto range. "Oh, Harry Potter! Take me! Take me like the slayer of darkness and the defender of righteousness that you are!"

Harry wanted to be affronted; he felt the old, familiar surge of annoyance begin to rise, but the ludicrousness of the words spilling from Malfoy's perfect lips sounded so ridiculous that amusement won; he chuckled and it turned into a real laugh when Malfoy's eyes crinkled with merriment.

"Merlin, you are a complete arse!" Harry sat back until his weight rested on his legs, and then he dug his fingers into Malfoy's sides--and began to tickle. "I'm trying out a new method of defeating evil wizards. What do you think so far?" To his delight, Malfoy grabbed his wrists in both hands and squirmed away with a yelp. He was ticklish!

"Help me!" Malfoy cried with a silly accent that sounded like a Southern American falsetto. "Help me, the Saviour has gone mad! He's torturing little old innocent me! What shall I do?"

Harry nearly dissolved into laughter, but he kept tickling and managed to manoeuvre himself between Malfoy's legs, which suddenly whipped up and wrapped around his back. A swift twist later and Harry was the one flat on his back with a smirking Malfoy sitting astride him.

"Ze tables 'ave turned," Malfoy said in a terrible French accent. His hand pressed both of Harry's wrists onto the bed and his mouth seemed set in a permanent amused smile of which Harry highly approved.

"Oh no, how shall I escape this dreaded fate?" Harry asked tonelessly.

"You shan't," Malfoy said and kissed him.

Harry braced his legs and lifted his hips until his erection pressed against Malfoy's, earning a delicious groan that rumbled over their lips. Malfoy pulled away and looked down at him again as Harry relaxed back onto the bed. Malfoy let go of his wrists and Harry reached up to press his hands against Malfoy's chest, then slid them down over his taut abs to the place where the fabric bunched as it crossed over the waistband of Malfoy's trousers. The cashmere was kitten-soft.

"I love this shirt. Take it off."

Malfoy tsked. "First things first." His fingers moved to the buttons of Harry's shirt. He had spent a ridiculous amount of time dressing earlier, selecting and discarding clothing until they littered his room like fallen leaves. And then he had gone to a local shop and purchased a new hunter green shirt with pale green stripes. And some new trousers. And new pants. "I've wanted to see this again since your tempting tease last night." As more and more of Harry's torso was revealed, Malfoy sat back until Harry felt like he was on display. To his surprise, it wasn't a bad feeling at all, especially when Malfoy left off unbuttoning and let his hands glide over Harry's exposed skin, slowly and almost reverently.

Harry hadn't known what to expect; his late night fantasies had consisted of little more than blow jobs and orgasms. Malfoy was taking it to a different level, mingling laughter and teasing with moments of heart-stopping intensity. Harry thought he might have opened himself up to more than he expected. It was terrifying, and yet hopeful.

When Malfoy bent down to take one of Harry's nipples into his mouth, he decided to stop philosophising and just _feel_ , because feeling was very, very good.

Draco lifted his head and observed Potter's half-lidded eyes and wet lips still curved in a smile. Bloody hell, Draco had nearly forgotten how much he loved sex. He loved kissing and touching, the taste of a lover's body and the scent of sweat and hot breath. He couldn't quite believe how much _fun_ Potter was turning out to be. The tickling had been a delightful surprise. Stanton had never teased; sex had been serious business, and Draco had never felt open enough to reveal even a hint of his more playful side.

He shook off thoughts of Stanton, with the startled knowledge that for the first time in months he felt nothing but a vague sense of annoyance with the bastard and his former relationship fiasco. Potter really was a miracle worker.

Draco kissed a path down Potter's breastbone and dipped into the groove between his abdominal muscles, following the dark trail of hair that led to the Holy Grail. He lifted his head enough to meet Potter's eyes and then placed one hand flat on Potter's erection. Potter's gaze was riveted on Draco's; the flutter of his lashes and hitch of his breath was a heady rush.

"What do we have under here?" Draco asked and gave it a squeeze. Potter groaned.

Draco took his hand away, but only to move it as far as the snap-fasteners on Potter's trousers. Draco was unwillingly impressed by Potter's wardrobe. No Muggle jeans today; he'd gone contemporary wizard with fashionable trousers, gorgeous striped shirt, and matching argyle socks, just visible beneath the cuffed hem of his trousers.

Draco opened Potter's trousers and yanked them back enough to expose the tantalising bulge hidden beneath tight cotton pants. Draco stared at the sight, his mind flashing back to the cock photo he'd received days ago. He wished he could photograph Potter now for comparison, but the bulge looked very similar. And delightful.

"Is anything wrong?" Potter asked, levering himself up onto his elbows.

Draco smiled and gave him a wink. "I'm willing to accept the possibility that you might have a work of art under there, Potter."

Potter snorted. "I'm glad someone thinks so."

"Let's unwrap it and see, shall we?" With that, Draco lifted the edge of the black-flecked green pants and pulled them gently back to reveal Potter's exceptional cock. Pansy had been right. It was perfect. Thick and heavy and peeping through a thin foreskin that covered all but the tip like cellophane, seeming to beg Draco to slide it back and take a taste... So he did, flicking his tongue over the reddened tip and catching just a hint of precome.

"Oh god," Potter said hoarsely. His entire body seemed to clench and Draco was seized with an almost predatory sense of anticipation. If Potter was this responsive after a single lick, Draco could hardly wait to spend the next hour driving him to heights of passionate madness. He had to count backwards from ten to talk himself back from an orgasmic plateau at the mere thought of it.

"You need to be naked _right now_ ," Draco said and turned to yank off Potter's shoes, first one and then the other. "Lift," he ordered and Potter helped as he wrestled the trousers over Potter's hips, and then Draco gripped the hems and hauled them off of Potter's long legs before flinging them somewhere on the floor. It was a terrible way to treat fine clothing, but Draco was too far gone to care.

Potter's pants were next, catching on one ankle as he tried to kick them away, but Draco didn't wait for them to join the trousers. He pounced on Potter, tackling him back onto the bed and kissing him breathless. One of Potter's arms was trapped, as he'd been in the process of shrugging out of the shirt, but when Draco was finished kissing him he didn't seem to have the energy to worry about finishing the job. Draco decided he rather liked him looking thoroughly unprepared, wearing nothing but socks and half a shirt.

"Merlin, you kiss like the very devil," Potter said as his free hand trailed over Draco's back.

"How many devils have you kissed? No, don't tell me. I don't want them to add that to your extensive resume. Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Chosen One, Dark Lord Slayer and Devil Snogger. They'll want to print t-shirts and that would annoy me every time I went to Diagon Alley and saw some geriatric wearing one and touting your prowess. Besides, the print is already so small as to be barely legible."

Potter laughed and Draco had already found that he quite liked making Potter laugh. It was even better than making him do that scowl-y thing while pinching his lips together, although that was nice, too. "Are you required to balance your moments of loveliness with periods of utter prattishness?"

"I don't believe that is a word, Potter."

"I think it's time for more kissing. And you have far too many clothes on." With that, Potter gave a heave and sat up, forcing Draco upright as well. "If you don't trust me not to ruin that fine shirt taking it off, you might want to do it yourself."

Draco huffed, but he obediently reached back and gathered a handful of the fabric to slide it up over his head. To his surprise, Potter pulled him close, by wrapping an arm around his waist, and began to pepper biting kisses over his exposed hipbones. As Draco tossed the shirt (to hell with cashmere) and reached for his belt, he could barely manoeuvre himself out of his trousers with Potter grasping and clawing and kissing him all over. He felt devoured, but in a very good way.

Potter tried to help with the removal of Draco's trousers, but ended up doing little more than hindering the process and nearly toppling them both off the bed. Draco found himself on his back again with Potter pulling off one of Draco's shoes with one hand and yanking at his trouser leg with the other. His determined expression gave Draco the chuckles and it took even longer to divest Draco fully of trousers, shoes, and even socks, since Potter seemed to be nothing if not thorough. Potter managed to finally lose his own shirt in the process, although he seemed to have forgotten about the socks still on his feet.

"Draco," Potter growled before he kissed a path from Draco's knee up the inside of his thigh.

"Pot--Harry." The name came out as a huff of breath as Potter's cheek grazed over Draco's cock.

"Hmm, that sounds nice." Potter pressed a kiss to the tip and then pushed himself up again to kiss Draco on the mouth.

"Tease," Draco complained when he could breathe again.

"Maybe I just like kissing you."

The words shouldn't have made Draco blush, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Instead of admitting that he felt the same, he pulled Potter back into another snog. Potter's position atop him had their erections rubbing together and they began a gentle frotting motion that felt fabulous, with just enough friction to make Draco want more pressure... and some lubrication.

"Oh, damn."

Potter lifted his head. His glasses were skewed and smudged. Draco laughed and pulled them off before considering Potter's face. He looked nice, Draco supposed, although very un-Potterly without them. Draco decided he liked the look, more vulnerable and less heroic, if that made any sense at all. "Our wands are back in there and I, for one, would like some lubricant."

"Oh. Hang on." Potter leaned up onto one arm and flung a hand out towards the opening in the drapes. " _Accio_ wand!"

Of course it flew straight into his hand. Draco could have pulled that manoeuvre for an hour and he _might_ have had success. With Potter, it was a given. Draco snorted.

"Let me lube this up for you," Potter said as he tossed the wand on the bed. He slid back down and took Draco's cock into his mouth as though he'd been starving for cock and needed to swallow as much as possible. He gripped the base and pulled slowly off, sucking hard the while, and then swirled his tongue over the head in a move that had Draco nearly arching off the bed while making inarticulate gasp-groans.

Draco mentally tacked on a few more titles to Potter's growing list: The Boy Who Fellated and the Chosen Cocksucker. Draco thought he might have to create new badges.

Green eyes flashed up to lock with his every so often as Potter moved up and down. His hand moved from Draco's cock to his testicles and back to his cock, while the other stroked Draco's hip, thigh, and ribs in continuous movement, as if he were trying to touch everything at once. Draco pushed a hand into Potter's hair but was careful not to force any motion; Potter was doing just fine on his own. He seemed to have no gag reflex, taking it deep enough that his nose brushed Draco's abdomen with each downstroke.

Draco bit his lip to stop the mindless babble from escaping. He felt hot and cold and electrified. And, Salazar, he was getting closer with each glide of Potter's brilliant mouth. A warning clench of Draco's hand in his hair seemed to alert Potter, who let go of Draco's cock and dove upwards again, pausing to give Draco's nipples some attention before kissing him again.

Draco allowed it for a few wet, messy moments, and then he pulled away, aching, and lifted his hips to rub his cock against Potter's. "I need you to fuck me."

"Yes," Potter said simply and reached for his wand again. He reared back and mumbled a spell that squirted a handful of pale gel into his hand. It smelled lovely, with a scent Draco couldn't concentrate enough to put a name to. Potter lathered up his cock and Draco helped, using both hands and bumping them over Potter's before reaching up to smear a stripe over Potter's mouth, earning a wrinkled nose and a growled chuckle. Potter touched a dab to Draco's nose in retaliation and then they were wrestling in earnest, smearing lube everywhere and rolling on the bed, laughing, and smacking each other with slick handprints. The bedcovers were a wreck.

Despite the digression into silly play, Draco's erection had hardly flagged at all, so when he ended up on his stomach with Potter sprawled atop him, he simply lifted his hips in invitation and spread his legs wider to accommodate Potter, who froze mid-giggle and then reached round to grip Draco's cock again.

"This way?" Potter asked.

"Yeah. Easier, to start with, I think." In truth, Draco hadn't been fucked in so long he was afraid he'd forgotten how. He wanked with toys only on rare occasions, so his arse had likely gone back to near-virgin status.

"All right." Potter pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, his shoulder, and the curve of his jaw before he located his wand and cast another lubrication charm, since the previous mess was all over them. Draco couldn't suppress a laugh and Potter bit him lightly on the neck. "Shush, you."

Potter's slick fingers brushed between Draco's crack and slipped over his arsehole before dropping lower to graze Draco's perineum and caress his balls. Draco's cock sprang back to full hardness, aided by Potter's other hand still methodically stroking his cock. A well-lubed finger pressed into Draco. He closed his eyes and bit into the blanket, clenching his teeth against the intrusion, which felt both awful and wonderful. He took several steadying breaths as Potter moved his finger in and out several times. His lips never stopped moving over Draco's neck and shoulder.

"More," Draco said when he felt ready and Potter obediently slipped in another finger. Draco's body adjusted quickly this time, and by the time a third finger was added, Draco was ready for Potter's glorious cock. He shifted his position and braced himself before glancing back and nodding encouragingly.

Potter redid the lube charm and then used one hand to line up his cock whilst the other held tightly to Draco's hip, holding him in place as he opened Draco up for the first time in far too long. Draco groaned and clenched his hands into the covers, wishing he'd thought to move closer to the headboard for leverage.

"You okay?" Potter asked with worry in his tone.

"You're not that enormous, oh Swollen Headed One."

Potter drove his hips forward and Draco cried out again as Potter was completely, deeply buried. "Oh shit, did I hurt you?"

Draco forced a laugh, although it had stung, and made a mental note not to insult Potter during such a crucial moment again. "Just get to fucking, Potter. I don't have all day."

"Prat," Potter muttered, but then he set to moving at a nice pace, in and out, and didn't forget to reach around and tug at Draco's cock, although both movements at once seemed to throw his concentration a bit, so Draco took over his own cock ministrations and let Potter's hands settle on his hips for better leverage.

It was glorious.

Even then, Potter's hands didn't stay still, moving from Draco's hips to his thighs, sliding over to his spine, and caressing and squeezing his buttocks. After long, fabulous minutes, Potter stopped and bent down over Draco's back.

"I want to see your face." Potter's words were a whisper in Draco's ear that sent a shiver down his spine. He nodded and they rearranged themselves. Potter slipped back in and then Draco pulled himself up with a grip on Potter's biceps. They sat face to face for a moment, and then Draco shoved Potter backwards and grinned hugely at his wide stare.

"You're right. This is much better." With that, Draco drove himself up and down on Potter's cock, joying in the burn of his thigh muscles and the hard, tight knot that began to wind even tighter as Potter wrapped both hands around Draco's cock. It wouldn't take much longer, he knew.

The bed creaked wildly and part of the frame thumped against the windowsill; Draco knew he'd have to do something about that later. The tenants downstairs were probably going to come pounding up the stairs at any moment to complain about the noise. The thought of being caught fucking Harry Potter was titillating enough that it sparked Draco's orgasm. He watched with interest as a spray of come splattered over Potter's chest. A drop hit him on the chin and Potter's wide grin suggested that a comment was coming. Draco wiped up the drop with his fingertip and shoved it into Potter's mouth the moment it opened.

He expected a choking response, but instead Potter's cheeks hollowed and he sucked in Draco's finger, just as his eyes fluttered shut and he jerked with controlled shudders. His hands were tight on Draco's hips and Draco slowed his movements, making certain that Potter was spent before he stopped moving. He took his finger out of Potter's mouth and replaced it with his tongue, kissing Potter with firm tenderness that he hoped might convey a portion of his delight.

As he sprawled next to Potter and stretched out his aching legs, he realised the ghost of Stanton had finally been exorcised. One session with Harry Potter had been better than months of routine sex with the overly-stuffy pure-blood. What had Draco even seen in him? He rolled his head to grin at Potter.

"Good?" Potter asked.

"No, Potter. A Chateau Bellevue Mondotte Bordeaux is good. That was closer to a Chateau Latour Pauillac Premier Grand Vin."

"I...have no idea what you just said."

Draco beamed. "Excellent."

Potter slugged him and Draco had to roll over and kiss him into submission. It degenerated into lazy snogging and finally just somnolent repose, with hands stroking skin and Draco considering the ramifications of drifting off to sleep. Finally, however, he lifted his head.

"Stay right here," he said and levered himself away from Potter and the bed with effort. He got to his feet and padded out of the room.

A locked cupboard held most of Draco's camera equipment. He'd been using it more since opening the studio, oddly enough. He had expected his only clients to be the few taking his classes, but he'd had several requests for portraits in the past week, although he'd been willing to chalk those up to morbid curiosity.

He also fetched his wand and returned to the bed, where Potter was still sprawled in a sexed-out pose, looking spent and gorgeous. Draco wanted to pounce on him again, but he forced down the thought. Potter cracked open an eye and then sat up, alarm wiping out the sleepy look with terrifying speed. The Ministry had been fools to let him leave the Aurors, Draco realised.

"Oh no," Potter said, sitting up and holding up a hand. "No."

Draco pouted. "I just want one for me. A memento of this auspicious occasion."

"Couldn't we just have some more auspicious occasions?"

Was Potter offering to do this again? "I'm listening."

"Like, um... regularly."

Draco's cock certainly liked the sound of that. "How regularly?"

"Daily, if you like. Your place, my place. Anyplace." Potter didn't seem unaffected by his own words, judging by the tempting flesh between his legs perking up much the way that Draco's was.

"You've got yourself a deal, Potter. On two conditions."

Potter frowned and his growing erection flagged slightly. "Which are?"

"One, if it's going to be a daily thing, then it needs to be an exclusive thing, as well. I won't have you showing up at some Ministry party with a tart on your arm whilst I'm waiting for you like a dirty little secret." Draco winced as he realised he sounded like a jealous shrew. Perhaps it would be easier to Obliviate Potter.

"Fine, as long as you agree to be my date at said Ministry parties and similar functions."

That threw Draco for a loop. "You're willing to be seen in public with me?"

"If you are with me." It sounded like a challenge and the flash of Potter's green eyes made it so.

"Agreed," Draco snapped.

"What's the second thing?"

"I get to take this photo."

Potter's face pinched up and he scowled. "Not fair, Malfoy."

Draco lifted a finger. "Hear me out. I will make certain that you are completely unrecognisable. You know I can do it, and I will let you destroy any proofs that you find objectionable. You can help me in the darkroom when I develop them."

Potter didn't reject the notion outright, and his white teeth worried his lower lip for a minute as he considered it. Draco wanted to crawl onto the bed and help him with the lip gnawing, although one would think he'd had enough of kissing in the past hour. (He hadn't.)

"No tricks?"

"No tricks. I just want to take your photo."

"All right. This is probably utterly insane, but I'm going to trust you."

Draco smiled at him, feeling somewhat foolishly pleased. "Of course you can trust me. Congratulations, Potter. I'm your new exclusive daily fuck buddy." The last two words deflated his sense of euphoria and he regretted saying them.

"I think the word you are looking for is _boyfriend_."

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, Malfoy, if we're going to be exclusive and you're going to be seen with me in public, I think we might as well skip the silly dancing around the issue. I like you, all right? And I think I could grow to like you a lot more, so it's _boyfriend_ or no photo."

"You drive a hard bargain, Potter."

"I'll show you some _hard driving_ , Malfoy." Potter leered and the stupid giddy feeling was back, pulling a smile from Draco when he would have preferred a stern glare at the terrible pun. Finally he gave in and let a laugh escape.

"Promises, promises. Now lay back, _boyfriend_ , and let me snap some photos so that we can get back to the _hard driving_."

Potter's smile was brilliant and Draco realised he might have made a bigger bargain than even he realised. Potter's boyfriend! Salazar, what a difference a few hours could make. The wizarding world would have kneazles, including Pansy and all of Potter's friends.

Then again, Draco grinned, that was part of the allure. He raised the camera.

Harry lifted his glass and took a drink, although his head was starting to swim and he realised he should probably slow down if he planned to stay awake enough to fulfil his part of Malfoy's bargain. Seamus negated that idea by lifting a bottle.

"Oi, Potter, your glass is nearly empty! Can't have that on Dean's birthday!"

"Didn't I tell you I was never drinking again?"

"That was ages ago and I know you didn't mean it." Seamus held the bottle up next to his face and crooned at it. "He didn't mean it, sweetie."

Harry snorted a laugh and took another drink. He glanced around the flat, which was packed with people, many of whom Harry did not even know. Hermione was in a corner arguing with someone from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ron had wandered off somewhere, and Sarah the American was hovering near a dark-haired girl with one arm braced on the wall and a very intense look on her face. That was a bit of a surprise; Harry had been almost entirely certain she was straight.

The music volume increased and a sudden burst of laughter drew Harry's attention. Dean Thomas was dancing atop his living room table, shouting the words to the newest popular hit at the top of his lungs. Harry laughed with the others as Dean gyrated suggestively.

"Who's gonna dance with me?" Dean bellowed.

"I will!" Seamus offered and started to climb onto the table.

"All right, what the hell?" Dean gestured him up, but Seamus had barely been on the tabletop for a moment before he toppled off the other side. The room grew almost deafening with the resultant laughter. Harry had to put his drink down and wipe his eyes, leaning against the wall for support. Merlin, his friends were idiots.

"Oh, honestly!" said a familiar voice and the next thing he knew, Hermione had climbed onto the table and was grinding seductively against Dean, screaming the words with him and throwing her hair around.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, rubbing his eyes.

"I was wrong, Potter. This party is astounding. And I believe I've gained enough blackmail material to keep me rich well into my octogenarian age."

Harry smiled and leaned into his boyfriend for a kiss, avoiding the camera slung around his neck. "You're terrible."

Malfoy's grey eyes twinkled and he smiled a smile that promised naughty, naughty things later. Harry reached for his drink to take another fortifying sip. The expected outcry from his friends had been non-existent. Even Ron had only muttered something bewildering like "Godric, finally" and then had stuffed so many biscuits into his mouth that Harry hadn't been able to get another word out of him. Hermione had smiled and shaken his hand, as though he'd won a prize.

The Daily Prophet, of course, had printed all sorts of salacious nonsense, complete with quotes from a certain Orson Rhonestaadt from the Department of Records who stated that he'd known Malfoy was up to something all along, but had suspected it to be fraud rather than the seduction of the Defeater of Voldemort. Harry had burnt all available copies, except the one that Malfoy had pasted into a scrapbook, mainly to annoy Harry.

The song--thank Merlin--ended and some brilliant person turned down the volume on the radio. Before Dean and Hermione could start dancing to another song, Seamus took the opportunity to wave a magazine in the air. "Who wants to read the latest Cock Critique?"

There was a general whoop and a crowd clustered around Seamus. Harry laughed and started forward, but Malfoy's hand on his arm stopped him. "Want to get out of here?"

Harry blinked at him. "Now? But it's early."

"I will make it worth your while." Malfoy's eyes burned into his and Harry swallowed hard. Malfoy was very, very good at making things worth Harry's while.

"That?" Dean's voice was loud and incredulous. He had hopped down from the table, thankfully. Harry had been afraid he'd been about to topple off a couple of times. "I'm twice that size and I only rated an N!"

"It's not about size, you gormless nitwit!" Seamus smacked him with something that Harry couldn't see through the crowd. "It's about ass...ass... What's that word?"

"Aesthetics!" someone yelled.

Harry chuckled and squeezed Malfoy's hand. "All right. Just let me say Happy Birthday and goodnight to Dean." He moved away and pushed through the crowd surrounding the birthday boy.

He joined the circle just as the magazine was changing hands, so he paused to look down at the photo, curious. His jaw gaped open and the blood thudded in his ears so loudly that it drowned all other background noise, including Seamus. He struggled to focus and clenched the magazine in both hands.

"Oi, Harry, careful with that! Can't mar perfection!" He finally heard Seamus' voice and subsequent laugh, although it sounded like it was coming through a tunnel. Harry eyes moved past the shocking sight of his own body in the photo to the words beneath.

**_This is how a perfect cock photo should be taken. It helps that the cock in the image is exquisite, of course, but also note the generous portion of his body visible in the photo, as well as the beckoning hand that makes the viewer want to climb into the bed and do naughty things involving that beautiful cock. The rumpled blankets suggest earlier debauchery, and the muted lighting adds to the ethereal, fantasy quality of the photo itself. I give this cock photo an O for Outstanding, and I should know as I took this picture of my glorious boyfriend. I intend to share him only this once as a (admittedly smug) lesson to you all._ **

Harry turned around with the magazine in hand to see Malfoy studying his nails as though bored and ready to leave. Harry waited until Malfoy's eyes lifted. A smile curved Malfoy's perfect lips and one shoulder lifted in a shrug. Harry marched forward.

Harry's voice was a low hiss. He was torn between being astounded and furious. "You sent my photo to the cock critiquer? Wait, you _are_ the cock critiquer." He shook the magazine. "I can't believe this!"

"Oh come now, no one knows it's either of us. At least, they don't unless you continue to wave that around and behave like an angry crup, although that is a good look on you, I admit." Malfoy's eyes swept over him in a way that always fired Harry's blood.

"We need to discuss this." Harry kept his tone determined, fighting the pull of Malfoy's grey eyes.

"Your place or mine?" The seductive tone, combined with a sultry smile, unravelled Harry's outrage. Bloody hell, the sexy bastard knew how to defuse Harry's irritation every time, but since it always ended it orgasms he could hardly complain.

"Yours," he snapped and stepped closer to yank his annoying boyfriend into position for Side-along. "We'll be back later!" he called over his shoulder and Disapparated.

A week later, Harry was seated in Malfoy's lap, snogging the breath out of him, when the door banged open and Parkinson walked in.

"Unlock your lips, boys, we have work to do." She tossed a large packet onto the desk before settling herself in her usual space on the edge. "That last photo you posted seems to have prompted everyone with a dick to dig out their cameras. Look at this mess."

She upended the packet and a mass of photos spilled out. Mindy entered the room with another bundle that she dropped onto a nearby chair.

"This always happens after I award an O," Malfoy said. "Everyone thinks they can do better."

Parkinson nodded. "True. When was the last one?"

"That would have been the one I took of my husband," Mindy offered. Three pairs of eyes turned to her and she blushed red as a ripe apple. "I'll just go and fetch the tea!" With that, she turned and fled.

"I am constantly revising my opinion of that woman," Malfoy murmured.

Parkinson shrugged. "Whatever. Let's get on with this. Here is a nice one. Of course, it doesn't measure up to _Potter_ , here, but it's not bad." She gave Harry a leer, but he was getting better at not blushing every time she mentioned his cock. Thankfully, only she and Mindy were aware that the subject of the last O photo had been Harry. Mindy never mentioned it, although she seemed to look at Harry speculatively, on occasion. Parkinson, of course, never let it lie. There had been an epic row the first time she had brought it up, which had led to angry floor sex, and not-so-angry shower sex, and then apologetic bedroom sex, so all in all, Harry could handle a few digs from the bint.

Harry got to his feet, reluctantly leaving Malfoy's lap, but they had work to do. "All right, let's get to sorting. Utter rubbish here, potential decent photos here, and second glances here." He pointed to three spots on the desk and Parkinson shoved everything aside (other than her arse) to clear spaces. Harry met Malfoy's eyes and they both smiled.

Malfoy had considered giving up the cock critique thing, but once Harry's annoyance had passed, he thought it might be fun to help him with it. Harry was gradually getting better at spotting what passed for good and bad photos, and his skill with a camera was increasing. Malfoy agreed that soon he would be ready for the Intermediate class, and might eventually be allowed to help him in the studio with paying customers--also mentioning that having Harry's name in association with his business was already drawing more customers. Harry couldn't begrudge him that. The bastard was quite a photographer and deserved all the customers he could handle.

And if his private collection of photos of Harry's _outstanding_ cock was growing also, well, Harry supposed he didn't have a problem with that either.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or [on Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/77726.html).


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